And Then There Were None
by panthea
Summary: It was supposed to be a retreat. Ten Scoobies traveling to Indian Island for a relaxing weekend. An Island with a history that won’t be forgotten. After an astonishing accusation, one by one, they find themselves being murdered and the only clue is an o
1. Disclaimer

Title: And Then There Were None  
Author: panthea  
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer  
Rating: R, slight implied sex, but mostly because of the major character death  
***If you don't want to see 'em die, please turn away!***  
Parts: 12 parts + prologue + epilogue  
Pairings: Buffy/Spike, Willow/Tara, Angel/Cordy, slight Anya/Xander  
Distribution: It'll be on my website (www.in-the-palm-of-your-hand.com/fanfic) but if you want to take it, let me know…  
  
Disclaimer: Story is Agatha's… Characters are Joss'… I'm just havin' my fun… ;-)  
  
Spoilers: Little after Normal Again, season six. For Angel and Cordelia, not important, somewhere mid-season three.  
  
Summary: It was supposed to be a retreat. Ten Scoobies traveling to Indian Island for a relaxing weekend. An Island with a history that won't be forgotten. After an astonishing accusation, one by one, they find themselves being murdered and the only clue is an old English nursery rhyme. Will they figure it out before it's too late?  
  
Notes: This is based on the Agatha Christie novel by the same name. I've changed it quite a bit so knowing the story won't kill it for you (well, maybe a bit) but it's still fun to read…  
  
Feedback: Normally I beg but this time, seeing as it's a mystery, I would like to see, not besides, but *in addition* to the normal feedback, your guesses on the whodunit! It will amuse me and I'll compile the results after each part. Please, get into it! It'll be fun! ;-)  
  
Credits: Many thanks out to my current savior, Angelica, who managed to get me the Latin translation of Giles' ill-fated spell in record time! Props, babe… To overflow her with similar praise, you can reach her at: Angelica Rich (arich@safelink.net) 


	2. Prologue

**Prologue**

* * *

Exhibit 21a. A scrap of paper found beside the blood-drenched remains of a female cellmate   
# MIFA801204-4209-00B   
_Faith Michaels, 21_   
Two Accounts of First-Degree Murder, Five Accounts of Mayhem, Three Accounts of Resisting Arrest, Eight of Disturbing the Peace and Six Accounts of Possession of a Lethal Weapon.   
Sentence: Life Without Parole. 

Contents as follows: 

         _They were fools. All of them. Funny, after stopping so many apocalypses, they managed only to mess up this once and now it's over. _

         And now, the one Slayer, meant to save the world, is behind bars and they're all out there, destroying everything. These people, stupid humans, they don't see it yet, but it's coming and then it'll be too late. 

         I have to admit I was stunned when Wesley sent me the newspaper clipping. The ten of them, dead on Indian Island. Who knew, with all the immortality that group shared, that they would meet their end on the Watcher's retreat?   
          

* * *

  



	3. Indian Island

**Chapter 1: Indian Island**

* * *

         "Buffy, heads up!" 

_One week earlier..._

         Buffy looked up to see the black bag hurled at her. She caught it deftly and scowled at Xander, who chuckled under his breath. She said nothing, though and stowed it onto the small boat as Dawn marched past her and sat, her earphones plugged in her ears. 

         "Dawn," she called. When Dawn didn't reply and just bobbed more to the tinny music flowing into her ears, Buffy reached over and pulled one of the earphones out and said, more loudly, "Dawn!" 

         "What?" answered Dawn, testily. 

         "Think you could help?" her sister added, sarcastically, waving at the bags she and Xander were loading onto the boat. 

         "I could, but I don't want to. In fact," Dawn stressed. "I don't want to be here. I could be in Sunnydale, enjoying my summer with my friends, but instead you drag me all the way here to *stupid* England for this *stupid* retreat," she grumbled, crossing her arms, defiantly. 

         Buffy sighed and looked back anxiously to see if Giles had heard. He was still talking to the boat driver. She turned to Dawn and said quietly, "Look, none of us want to be here, okay? But this is important to Giles, so suck it up and try to make the best of it, okay?" 

         Dawn scowled and pouted some more, but when she saw it was not getting any desirable reaction, she sighed loudly and grabbed the nearest bag to her and tossed it into the boat, without any regards for its contents. She would go, but no one could make her like it. 

         Buffy winced as the bag landed with an audible thunk and wondered if Willow had anything breakable in there. She looked over to where Willow was getting out of the red bus with Tara and smiled. She was glad the two had finally been able to work through their differences and get back together. Willow needed Tara now, more than ever. 

         Her smile faded as Spike sauntered out after them. He, on the other hand, was just what she didn't need. 

         She felt her stomach roll into the familiar waves of doubt and trepidation she had been plagued with since Giles announced this 'retreat' they were to all embark on. 

         Indian Island. If she squinted into the distance of the dark waters ahead of her, she could see a pinpoint of light. Giles had assured them that the house he managed to procure on the small island off the shore of Devon was just the place to spend a quality weekend, free from the nasties. 

         "Buffy, are you okay?" She turned to see Angel's worried expression. 

         "Um… yeah. Just day dreaming, I guess. I mean… night," she babbled, waving at the dark sky. "You know… just thinking," she added, grabbing the next bag, which Angel took from her. 

         "Why don't you go sit down? I'll finish up here," he said, just as Dawn threw another bag into the boat that elicited the small sound of smashing glass. He winced and said, "Take Dawn with you, okay?" 

         Buffy nodded, smiling, climbing out of the boat and grabbing Dawn by the collar, despite the protests of the younger Summers girl, just as Anya ran to her bag and opened it, to find two shattered bottles of lotion. 

         "Do you know how much this lotion cost?" she mourned, scowling at the retreating girl as she closed the bag again. 

* * *

         They sailed out into the dark, away from the shore, away from people and demons, away from life, to the small island and the small house that would be home for three days. 

* * *

         "Ah, here we are," announced Giles, unlocking the front door to usher them into the spacious front lobby. "Welcome to Indian Island." 

         The ten of them entered, under the weight of their collective baggage, and looked around. 

         "Wow… this is such a cool place," marveled Willow. "You can feel the energy everywhere…" she started, then quickly recovered, "…that is, if you were looking for that kind of thing… which I'm *so* am not… you know… because of the no magic thing…" Then she saw them all staring at her useless rambling and sighed weakly as Tara put a comforting arm around her shoulder. 

         "Yes, well… I imagine you feel the protective barrier, Willow," added Giles, clearing his throat. "I had a colleague of mine bind the island. No supernatural powers can be done on the island, thereby eliminating the dangers of demonic activity." 

         "Wait, so no demon has any powers?" asked Cordy. "Even me?" 

         "Um, yes, quite right. Although I'm still not sure exactly what your demonic capacity is at the moment," Giles pondered. 

         Cordelia shrugged and said, "Your guess is as good as mine. Wesley's still working on it and Lorne couldn't read a thing off me." 

         "What does that no power thing mean, Giles?" asked Buffy. "Does this mean we don't have our powers either? No Slayer powers?" 

         Giles nodded. "No Slayer powers, no magic, no vengeance," he looked pointedly at Anya, "…no vampiric strength or senses. You all are normal human beings. Well, I would refrain from going out into the sun," he told Angel and Spike. "You are still, technically, vampires." 

         "Hmm, I didn't notice it until now…" murmured Angel. 

         "What?" asked Buffy. 

         "Hear that? Listen." 

         "Huh?" Buffy strained to hear something, anything, but couldn't. "Angel, I don't hear anything." 

         Angel grinned. "Neither do I. No heartbeats, no general house sounds, none of the usual stuff I can pick up with my vampiric hearing." 

         "Can't smell anything, either," added Spike, nodding. 

         "But… isn't that dangerous?" asked Tara. "We won't be able to defend ourselves." 

         "Fear not. No demon can exact his own powers here. Besides, the island is completely uninhabited. The only way of getting on or off the island is by boat. Fred Narracott has assured me he will not transport anyone here until he comes to retrieve us on Monday." 

         "I don't know…" warned Angel. "Tara has a point. And we don't have any weapons," he noted, which had been left on the mainland as per Giles' instruction. 

         "Please," said Giles. "We are here to relax and to enjoy each other's company." He ignored the snort of sarcasm from Dawn and added, "This is instrumental for us to be able to strengthen our bonds together and work as a team. Now, I've taken great pains to ascertain that we are indeed safe here. All right?" He turned to the rest and said, "Now, then, your chambers are on the second floor. You may want to freshen up. We'll have a late supper in the dining room through there at say, seven. Is that all right?" 

         Xander nodded as he hefted his bag up the stairs, following a sullen Dawn that stomped her way up. The rest, likewise, took their bags and headed upstairs, choosing a room, and settling in. 

* * *

         Anya unfolded her clothes and put them in the dresser, tossing aside the bag with the broken bottles of lotion. 

         _Darn, no vengeance powers… if only she could teach that spoiled brat a lesson taught her way…_

         Anya shrugged the thought off and continued to put her stuff away. As she turned towards the closet, she noticed the small, framed picture behind the door. Leaning closer, she noticed it was in fact a poem, with small pictures of Indians all around it. She read: 

         Ten little Indian boys went out to dine;   
         One choked his little self, and then there were nine.   
  
         Nine Little Indian boys sat up very late;   
         One overslept himself and then there were eight.   
  
         Eight little Indian boys traveling in Devon;   
         One said he'd stay there and then there were seven.   
  
         Seven little Indian boys chopping up sticks;   
         One chopped himself in halves then there were six.   
  
         Six Indian boys playing with a hive;   
         A bumblebee stung one then there were five.   
  
         Five Indian boys going in for law;   
         One got in Chancery then there were four.   
  
         Four Indian boys going out to sea;   
         A red herring swallowed one then there were three.   
  
         Three Indian boys walking in the zoo;   
         A big bear hugged one then there were two.   
  
         Two Indian boys sitting in the sun;   
         One got all frizzled up then there was one.   
  
         One Indian boy left all alone;   
         He went and hanged himself and then there were none. 

         Hmm, interesting, she thought. The author must have been a vengeance demon, she thought. She hummed a soft tune as she set about unpacking, pausing every once in a while to read a verse and extrapolate it, to imagine the countless vengeance ideas she could commit when she returned. 

* * *

         Angel sat in the dark room, waiting for seven. His one bag had been unpacked an hour ago and despite the books he brought that were his favorites, he was in no mood to read. So, he brooded. It seemed like a relentless habit he always seemed to fall into when he was in the same vicinity as Buffy. It was hard, with their history, to be with her and not be with her. 

         Cordy would laugh right about now, if she came to find him there in his black corner. She probably would say that having one lightbulb on wouldn't make him poor, you know. She would exaggerate and say how after a hundred years, you'd think he would be able to learn how to use a light switch. She would come and joke and with just the right quip, she would make him feel guilty about being here, alone in the dark. She would make him feel… thousand times better. 

         He knew this was hard on her, too. He saw how the others treated her the last few days here in England. When Giles invited him to the retreat and he asked if Cordelia could come, he heard the pause in the old Englishman's voice that spelled volumes. They all still thought of her as she had been in Sunnydale. Queen Cordelia, the selfish, insulting, rich girl. They hadn't yet begun to see the radical change living in LA had forced upon the former cheerleader. But, Angel had only to look into her eyes to see how hurt she was. Angel had only to look to the tightening of her lips as Xander or Buffy or Willow said something to know she would never let that hurt show, preferring to cover it up with her famous Ice Queen routine before allowing them to see how much their words, unintentional or not, hurt. It saddened him to think that neither side would permit each other to expose their true interiors, thus preventing the true Cordelia he had grown to care for to shine. 

         A soft rapping on the door caused him to raise his head. "Yes?" 

         "Angel?" came the muffled answer. "Are you ready?" the brunette in question asked. 

         Angel glanced at the huge grandfather clock in his room beside the window. It was seven. As the clock began to chime, Angel rose and thumped the snout of the huge bear the clock was shaped in. Whoever decorated this house sure had extremely bad taste. Something he knew wouldn't get past Cordelia. 

         "Yeah, coming," he called, reaching for the light switch. 

         "You aren't brooding in the dark in there, are you?" Cordelia asked, just as his hand touched the switch. He dropped his hand, chuckling that she knew him so well, and then swung the door open to Cordelia's smile. 

         "Yes," he admitted, closing the door on the dark room. "Yes, I was." 

* * *

         Spike tugged the black T-shirt on and slipped into his boots, preparing to meet them all downstairs. Why had he come back? He knew England was no longer his home, yet Giles had insisted and… 

         Since when did Spike feel compelled to listen to a Watcher? No, he came because she had asked him. She wanted him there and like the stupid sheep that he was, he obeyed. 

         Spike walked over to the dresser, angrily. Picking up his rings, he noticed a small, open Bible to the side. Damn, last thing he needed was to accidentally touch it in the dark or something and burn himself. Spike grabbed a couple of shirts and came to lift the Bible, intending to toss it into the empty drawer, when he noticed a highlighted passage. Leaning over, he read: 

         _The heathen are sunk down in the pit that they made: in the net which they hid is their own foot taken. The Lord is known by the judgment which He executeth: the wicked is snared in the work of his own hands. The wicked shall be turned into hell._

         These were words of inspiration? he thought sarcastically. He gently lifted the Bible and dumped it in the drawer, sparing it no second thought. Shutting the drawer, he left the room for the dining room downstairs. 

* * *

         Xander waited patiently by the door for Buffy to finish so they could go down to supper. Boy, did women take so long… Something he couldn't completely understand, even after living with Anya for so long. 

         She still wasn't speaking to him. He had tried to apologize time and time again for the whole wedding fiasco, but she wouldn't hear of it. He realized how much he hurt her, but he knew he would have hurt them both more if they had gone through with the wedding. And now, all he could feel was guilty now that he had found out that it caused her to return to her vengeance roots. 

         Xander turned when he heard the creak of a door and saw Spike leave his room. He looked at the blond vampire as their eyes met for a second, both sets filled with contempt for each other. Then Spike ambled down the stairs towards the dining room below. 

         Xander turned back, his face etched with irritation. Three days with not only one, but two vampires that drove him up the wall. Chip or no chip, he would never be able to trust Spike, no matter how much they all said he 'changed'. And as for Angel, he had seen Angel at his worst and wasn't about to forget the monster that lay under that innocent, brooding exterior. Vampires were for staking, is what Xander thought, not befriending. He often thought Buffy should learn that, but she was too trusting, too forgiving. He supposed that's what he adored about his best friend, except when it came to certain vampires. 

         Suddenly, Xander could think of ten great things he would love to do to those two, thinking of that sadistic poem in his room. Ten little Indian boys… 

         "Ready?" asked Buffy, coming out of her room, interrupting his train of thought. 

         "Huh? Uh, yeah, as always," he smiled. He offered her his arm with a gentlemanly bow and said, in a false British accent, "May I escort you to the dining room, my fair lady?" 

         Buffy smiled widely and took his arm, saying sincerely, "Why, yes, young man, I would be honored." 

* * *

         Dawn sat slumped in her chair, waiting for the others to come and join her, Giles, Willow and Tara at the table. Come on, she thought. The faster this is done, the faster I can go back to my room. Dawn didn't feel like spending a minute longer 'bonding'. 

         Tara chatted amiably with Giles about some of the things they had seen in London, the two going back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room, bringing in the food. Willow, setting out the table, saw Dawn's frustration and understood what it was like to be deprived forcibly of her friends. But she was determined to cheer Dawn up by supplying inane jokes that only served to alienate Dawn more. 

         Sighing, Willow gave up after a few minutes, turning to Tara with a forlorn expression on her face. Tara tried to find some way of distracting Dawn and said brightly, "Hey, Dawnie, look!" She pointed to the centerpiece on the table with a bright smile. "Aren't they cute?" 

         Dawn looked at the centerpiece that was a wide multi-colored ceramic plate with ten small statues. She picked one up and examined it. "It's an Indian," Dawn said, dully. 

         "Yeah, but look… ten!" added Tara, picking up another. 

         "Ooh, what fun! Just like that poem in my room," Willow said, excitedly. "I have this framed picture with a little rhyme on my wall," she explained. "Ten little Indian boys…" 

         "…went out to dine…" chimed in Tara. "I have the same one in my room," she added. "Isn't it adorable how everything matches? The centerpiece, the poems, the island? _Indian_ Island?" 

         Giles, who had come in to hear the last part, said, "Ah, yes, an old English nursery rhyme. I read the same in my room; I gather it is in all of them. I remember it from my youth…" 

         "Great, an old island, an old house and now, an old lullaby…" grouched Dawn. 

         Giles ignored her and added, "Seems rather fitting, considering the history of this island, the name and the décor, something I'm not too fond of myself." 

         "You and me both, Giles. The guy who picked those curtains _had_ to be blind…" said Cordelia as she and Angel walked in the dining room. 

         "History? What history?" asked Tara. 

         Giles sat down, taking his handkerchief out to wipe his glasses as he said, "Well, about fifty years ago, a incident occurred here, one never fully explained. It seems ten individuals, strangers actually, were called here and then systematically murdered. The underlying suspicion was that one of them had been the murderer and then committed suicide but the evidence seemed to point otherwise. Somewhat of a mystery, actually." 

         "Hold on," said Dawn, straightening in her chair, her voice getting more high-pitched as she spoke. "You brought us to an isolated island, in a house where people were _killed_?" 

         "Calm down, Dawnie," said Willow, reaching out for the girl. 

         "Calm down?! How can I calm down?! People _died_ here!" she cried, her voice reverberating through the room, bringing Spike, Buffy and Xander rushing through the door. 

         "What's going on?!" cried Buffy, hearing her sister's frantic outburst. 

         "Nothing," said Giles, trying to subdue the situation, but Dawn rose quickly from her chair and grabbed Buffy's arm. 

         "We are _so_ leaving here. Now!" 

         Buffy looked confusedly from Dawn to the rest and back. "Dawn, what happened?" 

         "He," she pointed emphatically at Giles, "brought us to a house with _dead_ people!" 

         Giles raised his hand at Buffy's startled look and added, "Dawn, those people died fifty years ago. Trust me, the place has been cleaned out…" 

         "Really?" she said, walking up to him, hand on her hip. "What about ghosts, huh? You didn't think that maybe their spirits are haunting this house, trying to avenge their murderer?" Then she turned, horrified, "What if they think _we_ killed them? What if they come after us, like in that movie? What's it called, when those ghosts started killing the stupid people who locked themselves in?" Panicked, she turned to Buffy, "I'm leaving! No way you're going to make me stay here!" 

         "Dawn! Get a hold of yourself!" cried Buffy, holding her sister by the arms, stopping her from flying out the room. 

         "Yes, I did think of that, Dawn," Giles said, calmly. "Which is my colleague also did a spirit cleansing. Trust me, there are _no_ ghosts here. We are perfectly safe." 

         Tara came up behind Dawn and hugged her, "Yeah, Dawnie, it's okay. Willow and I would have felt if there was any negative energy. It'll be all right." 

         Tara's words comforted Dawn slightly, enough for her to slump back into her seat. But she crossed her arms and pouted. "Stupid house in stupid England with stupid histories," she grumbled. "Couldn't we just have gone to DisneyWorld?" 

         They all took their seats just as Anya rushed into the room. "Hmm, I'm late. So, did I miss anything?" 

* * *

         Supper was relatively peaceful and enjoyable once the talk of ghosts and supernatural activity diminished. 

         They talked and ate and were full. They decided to retire to the adjoining sitting room for dessert and coffee. The clock chimed nine. 

* * *


	4. Ten Little Indians

**Chapter 2: Ten Little Indians...**

* * *

         "The view is amazing from here," commented Willow, looking out the huge window that overlooked the water all around them. On the coast, she could see the small pinpoints of light that bordered the mainland. 

         "I know," agreed Tara, coming behind Willow and encircling her arms around the redhead's waist, leaning her chin on her shoulder. "Can you smell the air? Hear the lapping of the waves? It's so… relaxing." 

         They heard the snort from behind them, but chose to ignore the continuing saga that was Dawn's bad attitude. Even Xander was losing his patience as he sat beside her and said, "Ease up, Dawn. We all know you hate this, but you're here now, so just lighten up." 

         Dawn looked at him with a serious, worried expression. "Xander, there's something _not right_ here, okay? I have this really bad feeling. I can't just ignore it." 

         Buffy threw her arms up in frustration. "Dawn, how many times do we have to tell you it's safe here? Giles gave us his word that his friend cleaned this place out, okay? Now, just calm down and relax!" 

         Dawn glared at her sister, but said nothing. She moved over to the armchair in the corner and sat there, curled up with her tea, shutting everyone out. 

         Buffy sighed and rubbed her temples. She took a sip of the steaming tea Giles had set out and tried to relax, which wasn't easy with two vampires staring at her from every corner. Angel she felt she could handle later, for the moment, he and Cordelia were regaling Anya and Giles with tales from LA. 

         Spike was a different story. Since they landed in England, he had been unusually silent, speaking only when necessary. She would have thought he would have been happy to be back in his mother country but he stayed close to them, not venturing out to visit his old homeland. Since they set out for Devon to reach Indian Island, he had not said a word, keeping to himself. Dawn's attitude and Anya and Xander's arguing had distracted her from noticing until now. 

         She would have rather not approach him, knowing her proximity was like rubbing salt into an open wound. Their breakup after Riley's return had created an increased uncomfortableness between the two of them. But as Buffy glanced around the room, she noted no one else would approach him. It was obvious there was no love lost between Xander and Spike, or between Angel and Spike. Cordelia didn't know about the changes Spike had gone through and remembered him as the Spike that tried to kill her. Anya was too selfish and Willow and Tara were too busy trying to make their relationship work. Dawn was busy sulking and Giles was trying valiantly to make the weekend enjoyable. 

         No, Buffy was the only one and so with this in mind, she slid beside him and said, "Okay, what's the what? Why are you being all Mr. Pouty?" 

         "I'm not," he answered, morosely. 

         "Yes, you are. You haven't said a word since we got here. So, spill." 

         Spike sighed. "Nothing, luv. Just wallowing in traditional British stuffiness, I suppose." 

         "Oh, come on, we're supposed to be having fun! What do you want to do?" she asked, bouncing beside him, trying to get him interested. He looked at her, pointedly and she stopped in mid-bounce, reading his mind. "Except that. Look, Spike," she whispered quietly, looking over her shoulder at the rest of the group to see if anyone was listening then back at him, "I know this is hard, but really, it was for the best. It wasn't gong to work between us, you know that." 

         "Do I?" Spike turned towards her and said, "Never gave us a real chance, Buffy. You stopped it before we even tried. Didn't have the heart to tell anyone…you still don't," he said, as she looked over her shoulder again. She smiled sheepishly, caught in the act as he turned away from her. "Can't use that as an excuse anymore, Slayer. Fess up, you were just scared, plain and simple." 

         "I was not!" she added, indignantly. "Spike, you're a vampire, I'm a Slayer. Tell me how that was supposed to _work_?!" 

         "Worked for you and Peaches." 

         "Angel is different, he has a soul. And look! Still didn't work!" she hissed. 

         "That's because the bloody wanker's up on blocks! He can't even look at you without Angelus threatening to pop out!" Spike sighed and looked away. "You can't just expect me to be content about this, Slayer. Just leave me the hell alone." 

         "Fine! Sit here and sulk, just like my sixteen-year-old sister! Funny, after a hundred years, you'd think you'd be a bit more mature," said Buffy, rising to her feet. 

         Spike looked up at her and replied, "Your sis's got it right on the nose, Summers. This place… you don't know England, pet. It's got ways of holding on to you. A way of keeping the past alive. This house has a history, luv… and it won't let you forget it." 

         "You too, Spike? _Dead_ people? _Ghosts_?" 

         "No, I'm just saying…" 

         "What, Spike? You're not making any sense!" 

         Spike hardened his jaw and looked away, frustrated at his inability to correcting express his reservations. He settled for a calm, "Just don't say I didn't warn you," that sent Buffy to the other end of the room in equal frustration. 

         He saw how Angel leaned over to ask her what was wrong. Seeing them together almost killed him as unresolved feelings for the Slayer and her first lover, his sire, tumbled in his head. Suddenly, he felt like he could no longer sit in the same room. He rose to leave when Giles said, "Spike, there's a small cabinet to your right. No, lower. Yes, there. There's a player in there, would you be so kind to press play?" 

         Spike pressed the button, his frustration set aside as the sweet notes of his favorite musical piece filled the room. Not like any of these pillocks would know that, but it was enough to have him sit down again, averting his eyes from the former lovers and listening to the music under the guise of sulking. 

         "What is this, Giles?" asked Tara. 

         "Just a small selection of pieces I chose to set a relaxing environment. I can stop it if you care," he offered. 

         "No, no, it's lovely." 

         They sat, conversing quietly for awhile, in the beauty of that music when it abruptly stopped and a deep voice came out of nowhere. 

         "_LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, SILENCE, PLEASE!_" 

         It caused Willow and Cordelia to shriek in surprise as Dawn looked furtively around her and asked, "What the hell was _THAT_?!" 

         The voice continued and said, 

         "_You have been charged with the following indictments: _

         Rupert Edward Giles, you are charged with the death of one Laura Adams on 22nd day of March, 1972. 

         Tara Louise MacClay, you are responsible for the assault and murder of one Raymond MacClay on the 21st day of August, 1994. 

         Cordelia Chase, on the 18th day of May, 1999, you were party to the death of Marcus Perry. 

         William Harold Boyd, you killed one Edward Anthony Boyd, the 25th day of September 1868. 

         Willow Rosenberg, you have been guilty of the deaths of Lisa Garraty and Emmanuel Richards, the 17th day of April, 2000. 

         Dawn Mary Summers, you are charged with the death of Barry Grant on the 10th day of October, 2001. 

         Liam ó Coileáin, you were responsible for the rape and murder of Erin Mac Carthaigh, the 12th day of December, 1756. 

         Elizabeth Anne Summers, you have been charged with the knowledge and abetting of the murder of Deputy Mayor Allen Finch on the 5th day of April, 1999. 

         Aud Andersdotter, you are guilty of the death of Leif Fredrickson, the 4th day of March, 895. 

         Alexander LaVelle Harris, you are accused of the death of Aaron Joseph Harris on the 15th day of January, 1983. 

         Prisoners at bar, have you anything to say in your defense?" 

* * *

         The silence resounded in the room when the voice finished speaking. _Prisoners at bar, have you anything to say in your defense?_ The voice echoed in Xander's head. Defense? He thought. What defense? He didn't… 

         "What the HELL was that?!" Dawn repeated again. "GILES…?" she intoned hysterically. 

         "Calm down, Dawn," he said, shakily. "I'm sure there's a reasonable… explanation." 

         "Ghosts is what it is," Spike muttered. 

         "No, it can't be!" cried Willow, sitting down nervously. "We would have felt it, Tara and me, we would have!" 

         Tara looked worriedly at Willow and said, "Hush, honey. We'll figure this out…" 

         Angel was glancing and feeling around the room, trying to find out where the sound came from. 

         "What was that all about? Murder? Why was he accusing us?!" added Cordelia. 

         Buffy paced to where Cordelia was and said, "I don't know. We have to find out where that voice came from. Xander, you and Spike go check outside. Anya, take Cordelia and check upstairs. Tara, maybe you can do some energy spell, find out if there actually…" 

         "I can't," replied Tara. 

         "Huh?" 

         "No magic, remember? We don't have our powers," she explained. 

         "Oh." Buffy bit her lip, worriedly as she tried to think. 

         "So, we're screwed?" moaned Willow. 

         "No," replied Buffy. "We just… have to use our brains, that's all." 

         Giles looked as if he were struck by an idea and walked over to the small cabinet with the player. He pressed a few buttons and they all heard, "– ged with the knowledge and abetting of the murder of Deputy Mayor Allen Finch on the 5th day of April, 1999. Aud Andersdotter, you are guilt – " 

         "Oh, turn it off, turn it off!" cried Dawn, holding her hands to her ears. 

         "It's horrible," whispered Cordelia, as Giles hurriedly pressed the stop button. 

         Angel walked up beside Giles and pulled out the compact disc. "Guess we've determined where the voice came from. You made this?" he asked Giles. 

         "Um, no. Actually, my colleague did. You know my ineptness with those blasted computers!" he said, defensively. "I gave him the names of the pieces… He created the disc for me." 

         "Yeah, well, I had just about enough of your 'colleague'," said Anya, angrily. "He takes my powers and now, this!" 

         "I want to go home," whined Dawn in agreement. 

         "Look, let's get calm down, okay?" Buffy said, glaring at her sister. Turning to Giles, she asked, "Why don't you tell us about your friend? Why would he accuse us like that?" 

         "First of all," started Giles, "that's not his voice. John's voice is much more high-pitched, not so booming, if you will. Secondly, the person who recorded that knew more details about us that most of us in this room. John is very skilled, but not quite so informed." 

         "Giles is right," added Angel. "Whoever is on this disc knew quite a bit. He even knew my full name, something few knew. He knew Spike's real name… and dates… and events." 

         "But come on, Angel, accusing us of stuff that never happened?" asked Cordelia. 

         "What wasn't true?" 

         "Everything!" she cried. "None of _killed_ anyone! Well… except for you… and Spike… and Anya… Okay, but come on, Dawn? Xander? Willow? None of the rest of us ever _killed_ anyone!" 

         "I told you all this was stupid!" exploded Dawn. "We have to get out of this house right now!" 

         "All right, Dawn. Just take it easy," Xander said, putting his arm on her shoulder. 

         Dawn shrugged it off aggressively. "Stop telling me to take it easy and to calm down! We shouldn't calm down! Something's playing with our heads! Can you see it?!" 

         She rose and tried to storm out of the room, but she walked into Spike who was leaning on the doorjamb. He casually stopped her by putting his arm out and gave her a look that said, 'I'm on your side here. I get you.' It reassured her and she turned to face the group who listened as Cordelia cried out, "Okay, so what about this other stuff? Tara assaulting someone? Xander killing someone? And I did not kill Marcus, I didn't!!" She sat down heavily, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. 

         Buffy nodded. "Maybe we should clear up these accusations. Who's Marcus?" 

         Cordelia sniffed as she looked up at Buffy. "You don't remember Marcus Perry?" 

         Xander snapped his fingers. "Oh, yeah! Marcus! You know, Buffy, he was president of the chess club in high school?" 

         "The one with the big glasses? Didn't he have like, the hugest crush on you?" she asked Cordelia. 

         Cordy nodded, as a soft look took over her features. "Looking back, it was kinda of sweet. He didn't do anything creepy like follow me around. He just kinda doodled my name in notebooks and wrote these poems that everyone found out about. The guys from the football team found out and they decided to 'teach him a lesson.' I was in high school! I was cool! I couldn't _protect_ someone like him!" she said, defensively. "They grabbed him one night and strung him up behind the school, on that big oak tree? They took his clothes…" She looked down at her hands. "He froze to death," she whispered. "And I was too cool to save him…" 

         "Come on, you couldn't have possibly known…" said Tara. 

         "But you could have told someone," added Buffy, arms crossed. "You left him to die, Cordy!" 

         "Don't look at me so high and mighty!" Cordy countered. "You think I don't regret it? You don't think I wish I could take it back?! Why do you think I went to LA? I tried to escape from it! The guilt, the pain, the nightmares! But you wouldn't understand that, would you, Miss Goody-Two-Slayer…? No, wait, I think you would. I don't think I would talk if I were you… I'm not the only in this room with blood on her hands!" 

         Tara put her hand on Cordy's shoulder and looked at Buffy, who stood, mouth open. "She's right. The voice," she pointed to the disc in Angel's hand, "said you were responsible for the murder of Deputy Mayor Allen Finch. What was that about?" 

         Buffy blinked at her then answered, "Well, it was before you came into our lives, Tara. Remember I told you about the other Slayer?" 

         "Faith?" 

         "Yes. She killed the Deputy Mayor. It was Faith, not me!" said Buffy. 

         "No, the voice said you were responsible for the _knowledge and abetting_ of the murder of Deputy Mayor Allen Finch," corrected Anya. "You were there, weren't you?" 

         "Well, I did know about it, but I tried to… help Faith, get her to take responsibility," Buffy defended. 

         "You were still part of it," whispered Cordy, venomously. 

         Buffy stared at Cordy icily as Willow tried to ease the tension by saying, "Well, the voice said I killed two people, Lisa Garraty and Emmanuel Richards," whispered Willow. "I did do that… The magic…" Willow looked ashamed as she recounted, "I made more mistakes learning than I let on. I grew in power, but despite what you all thought, it was more like trial and error. One day, I tried a… conjuring spell. I thought I was ready. I thought I was alone in the forest, I did. I was creating ice, I created sheets of it, covering the river, the ground… and two students behind a tree. I didn't know they were there!" she sobbed. "When I unfroze them, it was too late!" 

         "Why didn't you tell anyone, Wills?" asked Xander, concerned. 

         Willow looked up with tear-filled eyes. "You would have made me stop. And even thought I killed them, I… I didn't want you guys to make me stop." 

         Tara sat beside Willow and stroked her back. "It's okay, you stopped now, that's what's important…" 

         "I killed them, Tara. And I didn't care. I just left them… It's not okay," she whispered, wiping her tears away. 

         "What about you, Tara? The voice said you assaulted someone?" asked Giles, quietly. 

         Tara looked up and nodded. "Raymond MacClay, my uncle. I was five. My uncle… he was a drunk. One night, he came over, he had been drinking… He was arguing with my brother, pushed him." Tara ran her hand through her hair as she remembered. "I grabbed the pan, I don't what I thought I was going to do. I was five! I thought I could maybe… stop him." She looked back up at Giles. "I hit him," she said, simply. "Cracked his skull. They acquitted me, of course. It was self-defense!" She looked around at the group looking at her. "I didn't _intentionally_ kill him, okay?" she said, loudly. 

         "We know," said Xander. "It's okay. Really." 

         "And you, Xander?" asked Angel. "The voice said you killed someone." 

         "I didn't kill him!" Xander spun to face Angel, angrily. "You have no right – " Buffy put her hand on Xander's chest to prevent him from launching himself onto Angel. Xander tried to get past her, then gave up and walked away from them, turning to Willow. 

         She looked at him thoughtfully and said, "It wasn't your fault, Xander." 

         "It wasn't?" he asked, almost unsure of himself, then more resolutely, "It wasn't." Xander turned to the window and looked out at the dark waters as he said, quietly, "Aaron was my brother. We were playing in the park, climbing trees. All kids climb trees, right?" 

         When no one answered, he wrung his hands and added, "Aaron was always trying to prove himself. To me, to my dad, to anyone who would notice. I told him he was climbing too high but he insisted. He fell, broke his neck. I'll forget that sound as he landed." Xander shivered. "But _I didn't kill him_! It was an accident!" 

         Angel nodded thoughtfully, but Xander misinterpreted the nod of sympathy as one of sarcasm. "Hey, you killed people, too! Lots of them! Don't be looking down on me, all right?!" 

         "I wasn't," said Angel, gently. "I know I killed people, Xander. I don't excuse it. I feel it, all their pain, all their… But I'm a vampire. At the same time as I regret, I also accept that I can't change the past or excuse the fact that I was… am a demon. Angelus is still in me, and while I, my soul, controls him now, I didn't always used to." 

         He paused thoughtfully, then added, "The voice used my Gaelic name, Liam ó Coileáin. Haven't heard that in over… two hundred years. And despite all the people I've tortured, maimed, killed, he chose Erin. Erin Mac Carthaigh," Angel reminisced. "My first girl, you could say." 

         Angel turned to face them all. "My name is Angel, but I wasn't always one. Even before Darla found me. I was a drunk, a womanizer, a lazy bastard. I did anything and everything to disappoint my father. Nothing I could do would please him. And so, when he tried to 'arrange' my marriage, so I could be an 'upstanding, God-fearing man'," his voice hinted at an old Irish brogue as he mimicked his father, "I did everything I could to hurt him. I met with the darling virgin girl he had found for me, his business partner's daughter. I drank heavily that night, and… I raped her. I then left her there, stumbling home in the dark. They found her body the next morning. No one could prove I did it, but the whole village spoke in whispers when I was around. I left her for dead and I was human. No excuse of a demon there, no Angelus. It was me, pure and simple. I killed her," he said, simply. "That's what Darla saw in me. The evil that already existed. So, looking back, I can see sometimes how becoming Angelus… wasn't really a stretch." 

         Buffy looked at him, her face blanched. "Angel," she whispered. "How could you?" 

         Angel shrugged in sadness. "I can say I was drunk, I can say I getting back at my father. But I would be lying. There's evil in us all, Buffy. I was evil. I can't excuse it. And of all the people I've killed, hers is the death I regret the most. She was so innocent and I… I took everything away from her," he said, quietly. 

         They sat quietly for a bit, absorbing what Angel said, then Dawn asked, "Am I evil, then?" 

         "No!" cried Buffy. "You're not evil," she insisted. 

         "But Barry… I killed Barry Grant," Dawn replied. 

         "What?!" 

         "Well," Dawn said. "Not intentionally." She sighed audibly, then looked at Buffy. "I lied, okay? Last year, during the whole Glory thing, I said I was going to Janice's, but I lied. I didn't go. I was going out with Barry. It was innocent. He'd pick me up, we'd go parking. You know." She fiddled with the edge of the wall as she confessed, "I asked him to let me drive. Begged him. He finally agreed and I want to show off. Cool Dawn, I can drive a car, no problem. We hit a tree…" 

         "Dawnie…" admonished Willow, in a hushed voice. 

         "I didn't know he'd die!" screamed Dawn. "He was bleeding… everywhere. I tried to wake him, but… I was so scared! I just ran and ran and ran! I didn't know! I didn't know!" 

         She turned and tumbled into Spike's arms, bawling loudly as he tried to calm her. "It's okay, Nibblet… shh, hush, now, that's my girl…" 

         "You know, I knew she was no good. First, she steals from me, and now, this!" cried Anya, from her corner. 

         "Anya!" said Xander, shocked at her tactlessness. 

         "It's true!" crowed Anya. "They have special places for girls like her…" 

         "Oh, and you're Little Miss Perfect?! Miss Vengeance Demon for a Thousand Years?!" Xander shot back. 

         Anya shrugged indifferently. "It was my job, Xander. Not like you cared enough to consider that…" 

         "Aud Andersdotter… no one by that name here, but your name wasn't on the recording, Anya…" Willow said. "You're Aud?" 

         "My real name. My real name before Anyanka, that is," she replied. 

         "So that guy, he was just one of your 'customers'?" mocked Buffy. 

         "Who, Leif? No, I knew him _way_ before D'Hoffryn approached me. No, he was my best friend's husband." 

         After a small pause, Willow prodded, "And how did you kill him?" 

         "Hmm? Oh, well, he was cheating on her, of course, like all the slimy pigs that are men do. He got sick. I had medicine. I chose not to give it to him. He died. End of story." 

         "You just let him die when you could have saved him?" asked Tara, unbelievably. 

         "He was scum! Besides, I gave the medicine to this other girl. I saved _her_… She was much more deserving." 

         "What are you, God?" asked Giles. "You simply cannot decide who deserves to live or die, Anya!" 

         Anya spun to face Giles. "Look, it wasn't easy to live in those times. You made sacrifices, choices! It wasn't easy to survive, so I chose my battles. That girl was needed. Leif was a waste of human flesh. I don't regret it!" 

         "How could you be so heartless?" he replied. 

         "How can I…? Hey, you're not so innocent yourself! You're on that recording too, you know!" 

         "Yeah, Watcher. Besides, you're the chap who brought us here. What's your story?" added Spike. 

         Giles looked away from Anya to Spike, then back as he cleared his throat. The he answered calmly, saying, "Laura. Laura Adams. I don't believe I met anyone by that name, much less killed her." 

         "So, it's not true?" asked Buffy. 

         "Of course it's not true! I don't know her! How can I kill her?" Turning to Spike again, he added, "I brought you here to relax. Now I fear that was a mistake. There is an old radio up in the study. I shall try to radio the mainland and have someone fetch us." 

         As Giles left to do so, the other nine stared at each other, exhausted at the revelations made that night. Dawn looked up at Spike and said, "You didn't tell us." 

         "Tell you what, little one?" 

         "Who you killed… the recording…" 

         Spike pulled the tear-stained girl off his chest and set her aside, saying, "It's not important now, is it?" 

         "Hold on, that's not fair! We all confessed, you should too…" cried Willow. 

         "Yeah, deadboy, spill," said Xander. 

         Spike looked at them and answered, "Unlike the lot of you, I'm evil. I have no obligation to tell you all anything." 

         "Come on," said Dawn. "Please?" 

         Spike looked at the young girl's expression, her need for him to be her equal. He sighed and reluctantly said, "Edward Anthony Boyd was my father. I… I was a weak boy. Never thought I'd have something in common with my sire, except a blood bond, but I also didn't seem to quite live up to my old man's expectations. One day, when I was a young boy, we were coming home from the shops when a couple of swaddlers came up and attacked us, wanting his money and all. My father ordered me to go find the police and so I ran, but by the time I found someone and came back, it was too late. They had left him for dead." 

         "So… you didn't kill him?" asked Anya, hesitantly. 

         "No, just was too much a nancy-boy to save him is all," he answered, head low as he slid into the small armchair. 

         "But…" she started, then decided against what she was to say when Giles came back in. 

         "Blasted machine's useless," he announced. "Doubt it's been used in over twenty years." 

         "So, we're stuck here?" asked Willow. 

         "No, no, no…" moaned Dawn, rocking slightly on her heels. 

         Giles ignored her and answered Willow. "I'm afraid so. At least until Monday." 

         Xander added, "Even if Giles had been able to get through, I don't think we would have made in to the mainland." 

         "Huh?" 

         He pointed outside and Willow saw the gray thunderclouds loom overhead. "Storm's on the way. I'll look at the radio in the morning, but I think it might be the storm's interference that's the problem." 

         "Well, looks like we're here for tonight," concluded Angel. "Maybe we should get some rest," he suggested as Dawn looked at him, petrified. 

         "No! We can't stay here! We… we have to leave! Please!" she cried. 

         Buffy came to her sister and said, "Dawn, there's nothing we can do. We have no choice." 

         "Please, Buffy, I can't stand it here! Please!" Dawn begged, tears pouring down her face as she shivered in fear. She looked at Spike and said, "Spike! Tell them! Tell them it's not safe here!" 

         "Dawn, get a hold of yourself! You're hysterical!" Buffy pushed his sister down onto the couch and sat beside her, trying to soothe her. 

         Cordy handed Buffy Dawn's tea and Buffy pushed it into Dawn's shaking hands as she said, "I promise, the minute we can get off this island, we will, okay?" 

         Dawn nodded hesitantly, but her expression showed her fears were still not allayed. 

         "Don't worry, Nibblet," added Spike. "It'll all be better soon." 

         Dawn looked at him, warily, then took a long gulp of her tea. Perhaps too long of one. For as soon as she swallowed, she started choking uncontrollably. 

         "Dawn?" Buffy asked. "Dawn!" Spike's eyes widened in concern as he rushed beside her just as Buffy instinctively started thumping on her back. 

         "Stop! You'll make it worse!" he cried as he grabbed Buffy's arm to stop her and quickly laid Dawn on her back, going through the initial steps of CPR. 

         "Breathe into her mouth," he ordered, pulling Buffy forcibly on her knees to the ground on his right. "One breath every five seconds. Go!" 

         Buffy reacted instinctively to the authority in his voice and put her mouth on Dawn's, doing as he said. She saw him start to do compressions, but after a few minutes, he stopped her and felt Dawn's neck for a pulse. 

         "Sh-she's not br-br-breathing…" hiccupped Buffy, eyes wide at Spike's expression. "We have to…" Buffy leaned over to resume her breathing, when Spike stopped her with his hand, shaking his head slightly. 

         "She's gone, Buffy," he said, sadly. He reached over and closed Dawn's eyes as the first tears streamed down his face. 

         "No," said Buffy. She saw Spike crying and noticed it was the first time she had ever seen him cry. "No," she repeated louder, shaking her head vigorously for emphasis. 

         Xander, standing in shock behind Buffy, reached out for her as she rose to her feet. She slapped his hand away, angrily as she repeated once more, "No!", refusing to believe Dawn was dead. 

         Spike dropped his head on Dawn's chest in defeat, uncaring for the people around him who were witnessing his profuse grief. 

         "Buffy!" cried Angel, forcibly holding her by the upper arms and making her look at him. 

         "Angel?" She… She can't be…" she whispered. 

         "She is," he answered, softly. 

         Angel saw as Buffy's lower lip began to tremble and the tears that slid down her face as he took her into his arms. She wailed into his shoulder as he rubbed her back. Angel looked at the others who were frozen in shock. He saw Xander slide him a look of utter contempt for having be able to be there for Buffy when she rejected his comfort. 

         "H-how did this h-happen?" said Willow, when she re-found her ability to speak. 

         Tara shook her head in wonder. "She was drinking and…" 

         "…she choked," completed Cordy, reaching for the cup of tea. But Spike beat her to it, scooped the half-empty cup off the saucer as he rose. He tried to sniff the tea, but growled in frustration as he remembered he had no vampiric smell. Instead, he quickly downed a gulp of the lukewarm tea before anyone could react. 

         "Spike, no!" cried Tara as she saw the blond vampire's knees give out, causing him to slump to the ground, unconscious. She ran to his side on her knees and propped up his head onto her lap. "Spike, wake up! Don't die!" 

         "He's already dead," Giles reminded her, coming up behind her. 

         "He'll come to in a few minutes," Angel agreed, "Vampires cannot choke… or be poisoned. It merely stuns us for a few moments." 

         "Poisioned?" whispered Buffy. 

         Giles picked up the cup of tea and sniffed it as well. 

         "Don't, Giles," warned Willow. "We don't know what that stuff is!" 

         Giles smiled weakly, then said, "The tea smells a little unusual. Perhaps Dawn did not simply choke…" 

         A groan came from Spike as he came to, holding his head in pain. "What the hell - ?" 

         Tara shushed him, as she stroked back his hair. "Easy, Spike, you had a nasty spell." 

         Spike managed to sit up and saw the cup in Giles' hand. "It's been tainted," he said, rubbing the nape of his neck. 

         Giles nodded, as he saw Cordelia sniffing the tea in the pot and the other cups. "I think it was just Dawn's cup," she said. 

         "But why? Why would someone want to hurt Dawn?" asked Xander, forcefully. 

         "I don't know," replied Giles. "Could you identify the poison?" he asked Spike. 

         Spike shook his head. "No vampiric taste… but it did taste a bit strange… like nuts…" 

         "Almonds!" Giles sniffed the tea again and nodded. 

         "Almonds are poisonous?" asked Anya. 

         Willow stood beside Giles and sniffed the tea as well, saying, "No, but a typical indication of poisons are their smell. Like an almondy kind of smell usually indicates a cyanide of some kind." 

         "Probably potassium," agreed Giles. "Almost instantaneous effect and relatively easy to acquire." 

         "Who would poison my sister?!" yelled Buffy, not quite believing what she was hearing. 

         Angel put his hands on her shoulders. "We'll find out, Buffy. Don't worry. Are you sure it's potassium cyanide?" he asked Willow. 

         Spike snorted and offered up the cup. "Fancy a taste, Peaches?" 

         Angel scowled at him, but eyed the cup thoughtfully as Buffy snatched the cup and smashed it into the fireplace, saying, "Enough with the tea! My sister's dead! I want to know who did this!" 

         Spike looked into her eyes and replied seriously, "We will, pet. We will." 

* * *


	5. Nine Little Indians

**Chapter 3: Nine Little Indians...**

* * *

         In the end, it was Spike who carried Dawn up to her room and laid her on the bed, covering her body with a white sheet. 

         He sat by her body and stroked her hair gently, mourning the loss of one so young. And when Buffy entered the room quietly, unnoticed by the vampire without his hearing, she found him softly singing to her: 

         "Sleep my love, and peace attend thee,   
         All through the night,   
         Guardian angels God will lend thee,   
         All through the night,   
         Soft the drowsy hours a-creeping   
         Hill and dale in slumber sleeping,   
         I, my loving vigil keeping,   
         All through the night…" 

         He felt a presence behind him, but when he turned, no one was there. 

* * *

         Willow and Tara walked down the hall towards their room, holding hands. As they reached Willow's room, she repeated for the tenth time, "I can't believe she's _really_ gone." 

         Tara nodded again, knowing it was probably hard for Willow to lose someone like Dawn, thinking how hard Buffy must be taking it. "We'll get to the bottom of this, we will. We all just need to… rest." 

         Willow nodded, opening her door. 

         "Do you… do you want me to come in?" Tara asked, hesitantly. 

         Willow turned to the blonde and looked at her sheepishly. "Um, I think… I think I'd like to be… alone, tonight." 

         Tara nodded, although the hurt look on her face did not escape Willow. 

         "It's just that… what happened tonight… and this house… not in this house…" Willow tried to explain but Tara stopped her with her hand. 

         "It's okay, really. Sleep tight. Lock the door," added Tara. 

         Willow smiled weakly and then said, almost as an afterthought, "Tara, there are no… ghosts here, right?" 

         "No," Tara smiled. "Ghosts don't tend to poison people. No, this is something human, Willow. Something bad human…" 

         "I mean," Willow paused, playing with the doorjamb. "All that stuff she was saying, you know, _before_… you don't think…" 

         "What, Willow? That she killed herself?" 

         "It's possible, isn't it? Guilt, over that whole Barry thing?" 

         "Willow, where would she get the cyanide? Besides, this is Dawn! Sure, she was a bit whiny, but what teenager isn't? She wouldn't…" 

         "Lots of teenagers do," Willow pointed out. "I just saying… it's possible, right?" 

         Tara stared at Willow. "It's possible," she finally admitted. "But…" 

         "Otherwise, there's no one on the island. Remember? Xander and Angel made a sweep of the island. We're the only ones here, Tara." 

         Tara took a moment to digest Willow's implication. "Are you saying it's one of _us_?" 

         Willow looked at her girlfriend, sadly. "There's no one else here." 

         Tara looked at Willow, confused and frightened. Then she said, "We'll… we'll figure this out in the morning." 

         "Tara…" 

         "Yes?" 

         Willow paused and then asked, "Want to come in?" She opened her room door wider. 

         Tara smiled. "No, it's okay. I think… we need time alone." 

         "But…" 

         "You're right. Not in this house. When we get off this island, I promise." 

         "All right." 

         "Good night…" 

         "Good night." 

* * *

         Xander dusted his hands off angrily as he reached his room. Two hours searching this place with Angel… Xander never wanted to leave a place more. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, they would figure a way off this island and what killed Dawn. 

         He turned his head as he heard a soft whispering. He looked up to see Anya and Cordelia reaching their rooms, in deep, hushed conversation. It stopped when they saw him, but when he angrily went into his room and shut the door; he heard them take up where they left off. Leaning back on the door, he shut his eyes and realized what was worse that having two annoying vampires in the house with him. And that was having two very angry ex-girlfriends in the house with him. And having them befriend each other. 

         He banged his head back on the door and looked over to where the small, framed poem hung. Suddenly, all the ten nasty things he wanted to do to Angel and Spike applied to Anya and Cordelia… wait, ten little Indians went out to dine… one choked himself and then there were… this had to be a coincidence… right? 

         Xander read the verse again. Under any other circumstance, he would have dismissed it, but in a supposedly haunted house, with a history, with such a death… 

         As he readied for bed, Xander thought back to all that happened that night, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Aaron. It had been an accident. It had been. 

         "Xander! You watch your brother now!"   
         "Aww, Mom, do I have to?!"   
         "He's your little brother… he's just a baby…"   
         "Hey! I'm not a baby!"   
         "Oh, yes, you are, honey, Mommy's special, little baby…"   
  
         "Xander! Look at that tree! It's up in the clouds!"   
         "Whatever… look, just sit over there and be quiet, okay?"   
         "Can I climb that tree, Xander? Please? I want to touch the clouds!"   
         "No! It's too high! You're going to hurt yourself!"   
         "But Jack Taylor gets to…"   
         "Jack's twice your size… You're just a little kid, okay?! Now, sit over there and play with your cars…"   
  
         "Xander, look at me!"   
         "Aaron, NO!"   
  
         "Ahhhhh!"   
         "Aaron! AARON! Can you hear me?! Wake up!" 

         "No!" Xander screamed, then realized he was in the small room and it was over, in the past… He breathed hard as he tried to sleep. "It was a accident," he reminded himself. "Just an accident…" 

* * *

         "Are you going to be okay?" Angel asked again. 

         Buffy nodded somewhat impatiently. "Yes, Angel. I'm fine, now. I'm going to sleep, okay?" 

         "Sure?" 

         "Yes! …I just need some time, please." 

         Angel looked at her, not really certain if he should leave her, but he found himself with no choice as she took him by the arm and led him out of her room and into the hallway. 

         "Well, call me if you need me. I'm two rooms down." 

         "Okay." 

         "Really. Even in the middle of the night. I probably won't be sleeping." 

         "I know, Angel." 

         Angel nodded and the said, "Okay, then. Well… good night." 

         "Good night." 

         She closed the door, preventing Angel from saying anything else and breathed an deep, even breath. She had forgotten how insistent Angel could be. Always trying to make sure she was okay. At first, she was glad for his comfort but after a while, it was suffocating. Buffy turned back the covers of her bed and started to shuck off her robe. 

         "Is he gone?" 

         "Aah!" cried Buffy, spinning to meet her intruder. The she relaxed when she saw who it was. "Spike, how many times have I told you…?" 

         Spike looked around the room. "He's gone, then?" 

         "Who, Angel? Yes, he's gone. What are you doing in my room?" 

         "I came to see if you were okay. But I guess my sire's done a good enough job of that now, hasn't he?" 

         Buffy smiled at his jibe and then said, "Yes… yes, he has. And yes, I'm okay." 

         "Really?" 

         "Really." 

         "All right, then," he finally said, awkwardly. "Guess I'll just…" he pointed to the door. 

         "Are you okay?' she asked him, before he reached the door. 

         Spike turned to her. "Beg your pardon?" 

         "Are you okay?" she repeated. "I mean, you cared for Dawn and… are you okay?" she asked. 

         He stared at her for a moment, then dropped his eyes to the ground. He obviously had not anticipated she or anyone would have cared to ask. 

         "Um, yeah, I guess." He looked up at her and then away. "It… it hurts," he admitted. 

         She nodded slowly. 

         "I thought… the world of her. She's the only one who looked at me and saw something besides a monster. She looked at me… and I wasn't a vampire. I was just another of you." He took a few steps towards her and added, "I would have done anything for that girl." 

         "I know," she whispered. "It hurts me, too." Then she asked, "How… when does it stop?" 

         "It doesn't… not really. Over time, it dulls a bit. You learn to move on, to eat, sleep, laugh again. A minute, a day, a year… But it never stops hurting." 

         She nodded slowly, crossing her arms. After a moment, she said, "You cried. I've… I've never seen you cry." 

         Spike looked at her. "I did once." 

         "When?" 

         "The day you died." 

         "Oh." 

         A beat of silence then Spike coughed uncomfortably and said, "Look, I'll just leave you to your rest, if…" 

         "Stay." The word left her lips and pierced his heart. 

         "Excuse me?" 

         Buffy couldn't believe she had just said that, it was a knee-jerk reaction, she knew. But now that it was said, she realized that's really what she wanted so she said it again. "Stay." 

         Spike looked at her, incredulously. "Are you sure?" 

         She nodded. "I… need you to stay." She reached forward and took his hand, leading him towards the bed. He understood what she wanted and despite the desire running through him, he stopped her. 

         "No. You're just… vulnerable… I can't…" 

         She looked up at him and cupped his cheek. "Please, Spike. I… I don't want to feel alone tonight." 

         "You're not alone, Buffy… you're…" 

         She pressed her body up against his and stared into his eyes. "Then prove it. Please. Stay." 

         Spike felt he might regret this one day, probably the next morning, probably sooner than that. But that split second in time, there was only her and him, and there would be no regrets. Only them, together again and as he had told them all before, he was a weak boy. And that weak boy turned into the weak man he was when he was with her. 

         As he laid her down on the bed, lips on her throat, pushing aside her robe, he thought of nothing but his love and cursed his weakness. 

* * *

         Giles poured over the second book, despite his eyes threatening to close. He had to find out what happened. He should have never suggested this retreat, he cursed himself. Why had he been so insistent? he wondered. 

         He combed through the power binding spell John had laid and cross-referenced it with possible demons that are involved with the kind of spell-casting John had. Nothing, nothing and more nothing! 

         "The power is within you, Rupert… but you can't just rip it out."   
         "Come on, Ripper, bending the rules is not breaking them!"   
         "Time and patience, young wizard…"   
         "It's just a spell, Ripper. Easy as pie… we can't bollock this up!"   
         "The Council has its eye on you, Mr. Giles. Do not disappoint us…"   
         "The power is within you, Rupert…"   
         "So, why can't I very well use it?!"   
         "All things in due time… Magic is a muscle… it takes practice and discipline…"   
  
         **"Ex unas acia a lux lucis es totus locuna quod totus unoversitas a secui a…Absentises locus a barba calax…" **   
         **From one thread of light are all words and all worlds woven...Gone are the places of whispering stones...**   
         "No, Rupert! No!"   
         "Ethan! What's happening?!"   
         **"Patefacio porta a vox…Etiames es calauticia's ut refero unus…" **   
         **Open the Gates of the Powers...Still are the voices that echoed alone...**   
         "RUPERT! NO!"   
         "Laura? Laura! LAURA!!!" 

         Giles lifted his head with a start. Laura. He could almost hear her, touch her. No, that was a long time ago, Rupert, he chided himself. There are no ghosts here. No ghosts. 

         None, except the one in his mind. 

* * *

         Cordelia carried the teacups and saucers back to kitchen… Dawn, dead… She couldn't quite come to terms with it… Going back through the dining room to go back up to her room, she paused at the table, staring at it, surprised she even noticed… Cordelia counted and re-counted them. 

         That's strange… she thought. Nine statutes? I was so sure there were ten at dinner… 

* * *

         Tara tossed and turned, trying to get some sleep. But she kept thinking of Dawn and the poison and the recording. Dawn had been right. Someone was playing with them. 

         She sat up and rubbed her face in exhaustion. I mean, Uncle Ray? she thought. I haven't thought of him since my childhood. That was all in the past. Everyone had… understood. No one had questioned her integrity. They had all agreed Uncle Ray was no good. 

         Now, she could almost hear Donny's yelp as Uncle Ray approached him… the feel of the heavy pan in her hands… the audible crack as she swung it down… She had to, to save Donny, she was a child… she never intentionally wanted to hurt him! 

         He had it coming; he should have never come home that night. He should have never drank, never threatened her and her brother. Like Anya said, it wasn't easy to live in those times. She had to make a choice. Tara had chosen her battles, and now, in her bed, Tara realized she, too, didn't regret what she did. Uncle Ray would have come for her sooner or later and maybe she would have been worse off… he could have killed _her_. 

         No, it had been better this way… maybe she had been a bit like God, taking a human life. Maybe she did feel a little powerful, knowing she had that ability within her. But now, someone else took the girl she loved away from her. So, Tara was going to find out who it was, and when the time came… do what needed to be done. 

         Tara sipped the water from the glass beside her bed. Suddenly, with all that decided, she felt sleep was possible… actually, sleep was necessary… Tara would sleep and tomorrow… tomorrow, she would find Dawn's killer… she would get them off this island… she would take Willow up on her promise… and everything here, Uncle Ray, the voice, the island… it would all become nothing more than a dream… 

* * *

         Spike watched as Buffy slept, her even breathing, the spill of her golden hair. The tune of the old English folk song echoed in his mind, stuck in his brain since they had arrived in London. He hadn't heard it on over a hundred years, yet the simple words tumbled out of his mouth, softly, as he watched his Slayer sleep. 

         While the moon her watch is keeping,   
         All through the night.   
         While the weary world is sleeping,   
         All through the night.   
         O'er my bosom gently stealing,   
         Visions of delight revealing.   
         Breathes a pure and holy feeling,   
         All through the night. 

         "You were singing that… before, to Dawn," she said, not moving. 

         Spike chuckled, glad she wasn't asleep, as he turned onto his side and slid over to her. "Now, who was spying on who?" 

         He slid his hand down the silken arm in front of him, and scooped up closer to Buffy's back. He gently kissed her shoulder, then her cheek. 

         "Spike," she whispered. 

         "Hmm?" 

         "You would never… leave me, would you?" 

         "Never, luv." 

         He held her closer and Buffy closed her eyes and moaned softly. 

         "Thank you for staying," she added. "I… I feel safer… with you here." 

         She felt his hand move away, his body stiffen behind her. 

         "Spike?" she asked, as he turned on his back, away from her. 

         She sat up and turned to him, leaning on one elbow. She saw him stare up at the ceiling as he asked, "Do you ever think there's even a remote chance that one day, you could grow to love me?" 

         Buffy looked down. "I… I don't know, Spike," she answered, honestly. 

         He turned his head and looked at her. "You are so beautiful," he whispered, then he looked back at the ceiling, and in his usual cocky tone, added, "Think if Angel could provide you with the kind of comfort I can, would I really be here, in your bed?" 

         "Spike…" 

         "I gather it would be him," he said, almost as if reasoning with himself. "Doubt you'd settle for me… He has a soul and I'm nothing but a monster." 

         "Spike…" 

         He paused to let her say what she wanted but when she found herself at a loss of words to deny what he said, he added, "Buffy, I love you and you know I do… but sometimes I wonder how long I'm going to delude myself into thinking there could be a chance you'd feel the same way. The only reason I'm here now is you feel lost, lost because of Dawn." 

         She sat quietly, absorbing the truth of his words, afraid of the next ones. 

         He sat up beside her and took her face in his hands. "So, here's my decision. I love you and I know you probably will never love me. But I am weak and I… I need you. So, I'm here for you, as long as you need me, too. Maybe I'm setting myself up for the biggest hurt of all, but I guess that's the kind of bloody masochist I am." 

         "I…" Buffy tried to argue, knowing it was wrong to use him like that, but he placed a finger on her lips, as to shush her. 

         "Don't… don't say it…" 

         She closed her eyes briefly, coming to her own decision, glad for it but hating herself the more for it, and then she looked at him and said, "I… I need you, too, Spike." 

         He smiled. "Then that's a start." He opened his arms as she slid into them, capturing his mouth with her own. 

* * *

_[the next morning]_

         "Good morning." 

         Angel looked up and saw Giles' haggard face and said, "I'd say the same, but you look like it isn't one. Did you stay up all night?" 

         "Most of it," he admitted. "Just some research." 

         Angel paused, then asked, "You brought your books? I thought this was a retreat." 

         Giles looked up sharply at Angel. "Helps to be prepared." 

         Angel nodded, then added, "Yes… except there really should have been no reason to feel like we _had_ to be prepared, is there?" 

         Giles narrowed his eyes at Angel, but said nothing as the others began to come down into the dining room they were seated in. 

         Xander said, "I looked at the radio, G-man. You're right, it's busted beyond repair. We're really stuck here." 

         "Can we just find some other way to signal the mainland?" asked Willow. 

         "How? The coast is so far away," Anya replied. 

         "What about a magical indication?" suggested Buffy. 

         Spike shook his head. "Barrier, remember?" 

         "Well, take it down! It can't be that hard!" she cried. 

         "Actually, it can," answered Giles. "I looked at the spell John used. Very intricate and calls on the supplication of many gods. I tried to find some loophole…" 

         "What about Tara? She's good with that kind of stuff," Willow suggested. 

         "Yes, well, I intended to ask her for her support in this," Giles quickly added. "Where is she?" he asked. 

         "Um, sleeping for now, I guess, but I could go wake her." 

         "Please do," said Giles. "In the meantime, let's get some breakfast. Anya, Cordelia, would you two give me a hand?" 

         Anya huffed in annoyance but rose and followed Cordy and Giles into the kitchen, as Willow bounced upstairs to get Tara. 

         "How are you feeling, Buffy?" asked Xander. 

         "Better," she nodded. "I just… want to get out of here, that's all." 

         "And we will, pet," Spike promised again, but his voice seem a little distracted as he stared at the table. 

         "Spike? Spike, what's wrong?" she asked, as she saw his focus and they all looked as he pulled the centerpiece closer, using his finger to count the statues. 

         "…six, seven, eight… eight Indians," he said wondrously. "Weren't there ten last night?" he asked Giles as he, Anya and Cordelia re-entered the kitchen with the food. 

         "You mean, nine," said Cordelia. 

         "No, there were ten," Giles said, "I remember Tara making a point of that to Dawn." 

         "Yes, but when I cleared last night, there were only nine. I remember because I thought there had been ten too. I thought I had misheard," explained Cordelia. 

         Spike looked around the table. "There's ten of us… nine, last night…" he said, the pieces falling into place. "Eight, now…" Spike looked up to the stairs leading to the bedroom, half out of his chair. "Willow…" 

         They heard a scream upstairs as Spike bounded up the stairs. They all followed as they entered Tara's room to find Willow on the bed, sprawled over Tara's inert body. She looked up as they came in, face tear-streaked. 

         "I tried to wake her up… she won't wake up! She won't wake up!" 

         Angel walked over to Tara's side, picked up her wrist and felt for a pulse. He looked into Tara's face and felt her throat, as if needing to reconfirm his suspicion, not willing to believe the first one. Then he looked at Willow and said, "She's dead." 

         With an almost inhuman scream, she broke down again, monotonous repeating, "Tara! No! Tara! Tara! No! No!" 

         Buffy sat beside her on the bed and took Willow into her arms, rocking back and forth with her. 

         "What – What was it this time?" asked Cordelia, fearfully. 

         Angel looked around Tara's body and then spotted the glass on the nightstand beside her. He picked it up and sniffed it. "I think the same thing," he finally said. "Almonds?" 

         Giles nodded. "The cyanide is colorless, easily dissolved." 

         "Are you sure?" asked Anya. 

         "Only one way," said Spike, leaning on the doorway. "Your turn, Peaches." 

         Angel looked at Spike, then at the glass. He took a careful sip of the water and felt its effects immediately. He collapsed on the ground, not quite managing to put the glass back on the nightstand first, spilling its contents all over the carpet. 

         "Angel!" screamed Buffy from the bed, as Cordelia ran to Angel's unconscious form. 

         "Don't worry, it's like Spike yesterday. He'll come to," explained Giles. "But he ascertained the cause of death for us. It was indeed poison." 

         "What is going on here? Two murders in less than twenty-four hours?!" cried Xander. "Who would want to kill two girls?" 

         "Someone with a sick sense of humor," said Spike. When they all looked at him, he pointed to the framed poem. "Ten little Indian boys went out to dine, one went and choked himself, and then there were nine. Nine little Indian boys stayed up late, one overslept himself, and then there were eight," he recited. 

         "Too much of a coincidence," Giles agreed. "But we searched this island! If someone were here, we would have found him!" 

         "Oh, but there is someone," Willow answered in creepy, dull voice. Buffy held her at arms' length as Willow turned to them, with red, blood-shot eyes. "There's eight of us. One of us is doing this. One of us is the murderer." 

         They all stood there, wide-eyed, open-mouthed and horrified at the implication of her words. 

* * *


	6. Eight Little Indians

**Chapter 4: Eight Little Indians...**

* * *

         After covering Tara and locking the door, they set back downstairs to the sitting room, each reflecting on Willow's statement. Who would kill Dawn and Tara? Which of them could actually murder their friends? 

         Cordelia saw Anya looking at her, suspiciously and said, "Oh, no! Don't look at me! I didn't do it! I liked Dawn! I liked Tara! I couldn't…" 

         "Okay, let's not start accusing anyone of anything, okay?" warned Angel. 

         "Why not? We have to figure out which one of us did this," said Willow, dully. 

         "Yeah, God knows if the murderer will stop here," added Xander. 

         Angel turned to Xander, "Maybe the murderer wants us to get on each other backs, did you think of that? Suspect each other and turn on each other?" 

         "What do you suggest then?" asked Buffy, angrily. 

         "We just stay together, no more going off alone. We stay together, the murderer can't pick us off." 

         "Oh, I don't want to die…" moaned Cordelia. "There so much more I wanted to do in life…" 

         "Like?" said Xander, testily. 

         "Star in my own movie, meet Donald Trump… European shopping spree!" she recited, nervously. 

         Xander threw his hands up in frustration. "You're classic, you know that? Two people are dead and you're still thinking of yourself!?" 

         "Oh, shut up, Harris, I'm just…" 

         "Frightened," answered Angel for her. "Cordelia always rambles about herself when she's scared. We all are," he reassured her. "We'll get through this." 

         She smiled a half-smile at him, relieved he knew her so well. 

         "Yes, we will," added Giles. "I have some useful books in my room. I'll get them and then do what we do best. Figure this out." 

         He turned to go up to his room, when Angel said, "No, not alone, remember?" 

         "Ah yes, um, Spike, would please come with me? The rest of you stay here," he warned as he and Spike went up to get the books. 

         "I could use some coffee, anyone else?" said Cordelia. 

         Willow nodded. "I'll come with you," she volunteered. They took everyone else's orders and disappeared into the kitchen. 

         Buffy looked at the remaining people. Angel and Xander at the far ends of the room, and Anya looking out the window. "We need to get off this island," she said. "You can't fix the radio, Xander?" 

         Xander shook his head slowly. "It's missing a few parts. There's no use." 

         Anya sat in shock. "I can't believe this is happening. Dawn, Tara… who's next?" 

         Angel looked at her and then stood up. "The poem… maybe that's the clue! The first was about Dawn, the next about Tara… What's the next verse?" 

         "Um… let's see… I practically memorized the thing… okay, we're eight. _Eight little Indian boys traveling to Devon, one said he would stay right there, and then there were seven…_" recited Anya. 

         "Traveling to Devon… well, we're all here," mused Angel. 

         "One said he'd stay here… gee, could it be a bit more vague?" complained Xander. 

         Buffy began snapping her fingers as she said, "Devon… England… who would stay in England? Not me, or you or any of us Americans!" 

         "You mean…?" started Angel. 

         "It's Spike," she said. "Last night, he was warning me… about England… what did he say? He said… that I didn't know England… that it's got a ways of holding on to someone… a way of keeping the past alive…" she began to say, contemplatively. 

         "Buffy?" 

         Buffy snapped out of her reverie and faced Angel again. "He said this house has a history and that it won't let us forget it… I think he's next, Angel. We have to protect him!" 

         "Protect him?" asked Xander, unbelievably. "A vampire? You want us to _protect_ a vampire? And Spike, on top of that? Have you lost your mind?" 

         "He's next, Xander. The murderer won't go out of sequence. If he doesn't kill Spike, we're all safe. We have to make sure someone is always with him." 

         "Someone, but the murderer, of course… and since it could be any one of us," said Anya, "we have to triple our efforts. Spike can never be alone with only one person." 

         "You mean, like he is now, with Giles?" said Xander. 

         Buffy looked up at the stairs they had gone up. "Yes, they have been gone an awfully long time…" She rose to go up the stairs but when she reached the foot of the stairs, she ended up face to face with Spike who was coming down. 

         "Going somewhere, pet?" he asked eerily, arms full of books 

         Relief and worry washed through her body, simultaneously. "Um, no, I was just coming to see what was taking you so long… uh, where's Giles?" she asked, looking behind him. 

         "Watcher's got all his books scattered about the room…" he explained, going past her and dropping the books on the table. "He's right behind me," he answered her. 

         "Is he?" she asked, suspiciously, looking up the stairwell. 

         "Yes," he said, turning to her. "What the bloo - ?" He looked perturbed when Buffy gestured at the empty stairwell. He walked to where she stood and called up, "Watcher! You there?" 

         "Giles?!" Buffy called up, anxiously, after a moment and then set up the stairs to run into Giles, coming down with an armful of books. 

         "Yes, already! I'm right here!" he said, impatiently, not noticing Buffy's sigh of relief. 

         "Where were you? I was scared to death!" Buffy cried. 

         "Hmm? Oh, sorry," he apologized when he saw her distress and understood her concern. "I had dropped a book," he explained as Willow and Cordelia came in with the refreshments. 

         "So, everyone still here?" asked Cordelia, a little too brightly, which earned her scowls from the rest of them. 

         They began to research in earnest for some explanation for the strange events that had occurred. 

* * *

         Buffy threw her book down and looked around. She saw the concentration everyone had in their research. It was more passionate that before. The deaths had made the search for the answer much more critical. 

         She rose to get another book and saw Giles in the study alone. She walked carefully in and saw he actually was with Cordy and Spike. Cordy was curled on the couch, book in her lap and nodding off. Spike was at the huge desk, crouched intently over another as Giles paced the room. 

         "Any luck?" she whispered. 

         Giles looked up and shook his head. "You?" 

         "None." Buffy looked around the huge study, then asked, "Giles, who did you get this place from?" she asked, curiously. 

         "Hmm? Oh… it was advertised in the local paper. I leased it through an intermediary. I have the contract here somewhere…" said Giles, going to the desk and leafing through his papers. 

         Spike looked up briefly, then went back to the book. 

         "Ah, yes, here it is!" Giles pulled out the sheaf of papers. "Signed and notarized… It's listed to a Mr. Owen. Ulrick Norman Owen." 

         "Ulrick… man, you guys have weird English names," said Buffy, disdainfully. 

         But Spike's head had shot up again and he rose, leaning forward, snatching the paper from Giles' hand. 

         "What the - ?" said Giles, in surprise, as Spike read the paper and then groaned in frustration. 

         "You bloody pillock!" he swore. "Are you even English?" 

         "What? Of course I am – " 

         "Ulrick Norman Owen! U. N. Owen! Un-Owen! Unknown! The classic British code for mind-your-own-bloody-business-I'm-doing-something-a-tad-shady!" 

         "What?" asked Buffy, stunned. 

         "What's going on?" asked Cordy, rising from her sleep. 

         "Your Watcher rented the place from an anonymous owner! I doubt this rubbish's even legal!" he shouted, throwing the sheets on the desk. 

         "Giles?" Buffy asked, as the others rushed in from the other room. 

         "I… I didn't know," Giles stumbled. 

         "Didn't know?!" yelled Spike. "How could you not know?! Or maybe this was your plan all along…" 

         "Plan? I resent that accusation!" Giles shouted back. "I had nothing to do with this!" 

         "Really? Convenient, though, how…" 

         "Okay, easy, boys!" cried Cordy, coming and separating the two. She took Spike by the arm, who snatched his book angrily and let Cordy lead him out of the room. 

         Buffy watched as the others followed Spike out, leaving her with Giles. She went and quickly closed the door and faced Giles. 

         "Giles? Talk to me… What's going on? Is Spike right?" she asked. 

         Giles sat at the desk and rubbed his temple with his fingers. "Yes… and no. Damn, I can't believe I didn't see it!" 

         "What?" 

         "This!" he pointed to the contract. "I should have known… Believe me, Buffy, I didn't do this on purpose… I had many things on my mind… I couldn't foresee this…" 

         "I believe you," she said. "I just… this is so weird. It's like… we're on trial or something, you know? And we're being punished." 

         Giles looked at her and said, "It's not your fault, Buffy. Faith's sins are hers alone." 

         "But I was there! I was part of it! Maybe… maybe we all are guilty…" she added. 

         "This is absurd, Buffy! You can't be held responsible for something you didn't do!" 

         "I'm not so sure…" she said, softly. 

         Giles paused, then said, "Buffy, I didn't say anything last night because of everyone that was there. The Watcher's Council has strict instructions about the kind of things that are revealed and concealed within its walls. But as your Watcher, I feel I'm entitled to tell you." 

         "What, Giles? What is it?" she asked, growing concerned from his tone. 

         He heaved a great sigh then looked at his hands as he recounted. "I did know a Laura Adams. Laura was my tutor, in fact, in the art of magic. Ethan and I were her apprentices within the Council. We were very powerful, but Laura knew the dangers of entrusting such powers to two young, passionate men such as Ethan and myself. She stressed the importance of patience and discipline." 

         He rose to the window, continuing his story. "Ethan was impatient. He wanted to perform a spell two levels too advanced. I tried to convince him not to, but the Council was pressuring us to perform to their expectations. Laura tried to stop us, but she got caught in the crossfire of a spell gone bad. She died, Buffy." 

         He turned to her and asked, "Was it my fault? Do I deserve to be punished for an accident? One perpetuated by someone else, just because I was party to it?" 

         Buffy sat there, stunned. "I… I don't know. Do you?" 

         "I don't know, either," he answered, laughing. "It's so absurd… so absurd…" 

         "Giles?" she asked, worriedly. 

         Giles' laughter subsided, replaced by a look of fear. 

         "Maybe we are being punished… maybe we _do_ deserve to be…" 

* * *

         When the clock chimed one, Xander remembered none of them had eaten breakfast, or lunch, for that fact. He was about to suggest food when he looked at the group around him. 

         They had searched for hours and nothing. More and more, Xander was becoming convinced that Willow might be right. It might be one of them… 

         Who would kill Dawn and Tara? Obviously not Buffy or Willow. And definitely not him. So that left Angel, Anya, Cordy, Spike and Giles. 

         Giles _had_ brought them here and _had_ gotten the CD made. But he wouldn't hurt them; Xander had known Giles since high school. No way. 

         Maybe Cordelia. He knew her too, but she was a demon now… perhaps… 

         The two vampires? Spike might kill Tara, if the chip stopped working, but Dawn? Despite his reservations about Spike, he knew Spike had cared for Dawn. Could Angelus be back? Xander looked at Angel but couldn't see evidence of the monster of old. But then again, Angel killed before he was Angelus, Xander reminded himself of Erin. What would stop him from killing as Angel? 

         And Anya. Anya was so ruthless towards Dawn last night, but she had also been mad that Dawn broke her bottles of lotion. And Anya was Anya. He knew Anya, right? 

         Xander shook his head to himself. This would hard, to find the killer. These were his friends, right? He had known the since…forever. But now he had to, before someone else died. However, some food might help. 

         "Anyone want anything to eat?" he asked. 

* * *

         Willow finished setting the table. She moved like a robot, her limbs numb from sensation. Tara was gone, Tara was gone… The words tumbled in her head. How could this happen? After all they went through, only to get back together for this to happen. 

         _You're right. Not in this house. When we get off this island, I promise._

         There was no promise now, Willow thought. It was over. She was gone. 

         "There we go," Cordelia said, cheerily. "All done," she said, bringing in the last bowl of food. Willow stared at her with dead eyes and walked into the kitchen. 

         "Gee, just trying to lighten the mood," she said to Buffy. 

         "She needs time, Cordy. She really loved Tara," Buffy explained. 

         "Yeah? Well, you loved Dawn and you're not acting like a zombie," complained Cordy, before realizing what she was saying as Buffy lowered her gaze. "Um, sorry, I mean…" 

         "It's okay, Cordy… I understand you mean well. Just… give Willow her space." 

         Cordy nodded as went to the door and called the rest of them from the sitting room to say dinner was ready. 

         They all filed in, taking their seats in silence. Buffy looked as Xander and Angel walked in with Spike. Good, she thought. He was still safe. 

         Willow came out with the bread and asked, "Where's Giles?" 

         Angel said, "He's just finishing one last cross-reference. Didn't want to lose his train of thought." 

         Cordy looked at him with wide eyes. "You mean, he's alone in there?" 

         "Well, yeah, I mean…" he gestured to Spike, realizing not all of them knew about Buffy's theory. 

         "No, Anya's with him," Xander interrupted. "She's checking the last of the demon chronicles." 

         Cordelia nodded in relief and sat down. 

* * *

         Giles opened the last book, ecstatic he was finally on some kind of lead. The Themitic clause, an eternal reward for the perfect evil… Something that could unleash all hell on earth… 

         "That's it!" he said aloud, his finger jabbing the book at the answer. "I know who killed them!" 

         He turned excitedly to tell the others when something came out of nowhere and struck Giles in the face, sending him spiraling into darkness. 

         "Can't let you tell them just yet… and ruin my plan?" the murderer said, dropping the candlestick by his side. 

         But Giles was beyond hearing, taking the answer with him to the land of the dead. 

* * *

         Spike asked, "Who set the table?" 

         "I did," said Willow. "Why?" 

         He looked at her, suspiciously and said, "The Indians. You only set out seven…" pointing to the centerpiece. 

         Willow's eyes widened as she looked over and said, "Spike, I never set out the centerpiece, it's been there since this morning." 

         "There were eight this morning!" he cried. 

         "But I didn't touch them! I swear! Buffy saw me!" she yelled, getting up. 

         Buffy looked back and forth from Spike to Willow and said, "Seven… Devon… If it isn't you… then…" 

         Anya burst in the room and cried, "Come quick! Giles!" 

         They all rushed back into the study as they saw Giles lying in a pool of blood. "Oh my God!" cried Cordelia, as Buffy ran to his side. She hesitantly touched his chest and then said, "He… He's dead!" 

         "But why?!" cried Anya. "This is insane!" 

         "Anya, you were here, what happened?" asked Xander. When she didn't answer, standing and staring at Giles in shock, he grabbed her by her shoulders and shook her. "What happened?!" he yelled. 

         "Stop!" cried Angel, grabbing Xander by the wrists and wrenching him off Anya. Then he took the shocked girl to the nearest armchair and sat her down. Kneeling in front of her, he asked, "Anya… Anya, did you see what happened to Giles?" 

         Anya shook her head. "I needed the second volume," she whispered, pointing to the book by the stairs where she had dropped it. "I only left for two minutes…" she said, her face crumpling as tears spilt over. 

         "Guess the Watcher didn't do it, then." Spike picked up the bloody candlestick beside Giles. "Seems he was hit with this," he said, examining it. 

         Buffy looked up at him with sad eyes. "I thought it was going to be you… You seem so passionate about England… I forgot Giles was too…" 

         "What?" asked Spike, confused. 

         "The verse," she explained. "Wanting to stay in Devon. Giles loved Devon, why didn't I think of that? This is my fault, we should have protected him…" Buffy cursed herself. 

         "This is not your fault," Spike insisted. "You couldn't have known." 

         "But the poem! It's a clue! We should have seen it!" 

         "Buffy, that blasted poem's a nursery rhyme! It's a very old English rhyme! Besides, it didn't help the last people!" 

         "Last people?" asked Cordy. 

         Spike looked at Angel and said, "Come on, you remember! This house!" When Angel looked at him, confused, Spike said, as he walked over to the closet and pulled down some spare blankets, "Fifty years ago, ten strangers came here and were killed off, one by one, according to that stupid poem. Giles told you all that. The mystery was unsolved until about ten years ago. They found a confession in a bottle that washed up the coast. One of them had done it, and he was damn proud too. Killed himself after all of them to commit what he thought was the perfect crime." 

         "So, now what? His ghost is killing us?" asked Anya. 

         "No ghost. It's one of us!" he said, spreading the blanket on Giles and rolling him up in it. 

         "This is crazy," stated Cordy. "We all know each other, why would any of kill each other?" 

         "I don't know, but right now, we have to figure this out," replied Spike. 

         "Spike's right," said Angel. "Right now, everyone's a suspect. No one goes anywhere alone. No one takes off. Okay?" 

         "Everyone's a suspect?" asked Willow. 

         "Yeah, I mean, Buffy didn't do it, or Willow," said Xander. 

         "And why not?" asked Anya, angrily. 

         Xander turned to Anya. "Because Buffy wouldn't kill Dawn and Willow wouldn't kill Tara! Or have you forgotten about that?!" 

         Anya stood and walked over to Xander and said, "Look, I've lived a thousand years and if there's one thing I've learnt is that anyone can kill anyone, even people they love." 

         Angel nodded as he came in front of Spike to help him lift Giles upstairs. "Everyone's a suspect. No exceptions." 

         "But how?" said Xander. "I couldn't have killed Giles! I was with you all in the dining room…" 

         "Except when you got up to go to the washroom," Cordy reminded him. "You could have snuck into the study." 

         "I was gone for two seconds." 

         "Long enough to kill someone," said Angel. 

         "What?! I didn't…" 

         "Look," Angel cut him off, "We all could have killed Giles. All of us went in to the kitchen at some point or another and could have used the other door to get here." 

         "So, none of us can go anywhere alone anymore… not even for a second," murmured Buffy. 

         "No," said Angel, lifting Giles. "Not for a second…" 

* * *


	7. Seven Little Indians

**Chapter 5: Seven Little Indians...**

* * *

         They managed to eat a bit after cleaning up in the sitting room and putting Giles to rest in his room. They ate in silence; each eyeing each other suspiciously and wondering whom of them could kill so cold-bloodedly. 

         "Angel's been too calm… could he be Angelus again?"   
         "Willow might be up to some dark magic again… she's always had a problem…"   
         "Spike's a killer, plain and simple. This goodness he's been displaying could all be smoke and lights right about now…"   
         "Anya's a vengeance demon… maybe she's exacting her vengeance… no powers, but did that ever stop her?"   
         "Buffy couldn't kill her sister… besides, she's the Slayer, right? Unless there's a time limit on her duty and she just goes psycho…"   
         "Cordelia's a demon now, and God knows what kind…"   
         "Xander always had issues… but to kill? Maybe he's gone mad… maybe we've all gone mad…" 

         The silent accusations spun around the room and in the mind of the real killer, the thought was: "So far, so good… they are falling into my clutches… the perfect crime, indeed!" The killer turned to look at the next victim and smiled.         

* * *

         After lunch, Willow announced she was tired and wanted to go up to her room and sleep. Cordy and Anya accompanied her and after making sure her room was locked, they came back down together. They were sitting in the sitting room, trying to research, trying not to lose hope. If they could only make it till Monday, thought Angel. 

         He saw Buffy staring into space and his heart went out to her. "What are you thinking?" he asked her, in a hushed whisper. 

         "Hmm? Oh, uh… the poem… the next verse… _Seven little Indian boys chopping up sticks; one chopped himself in halves then there were six_," recited Buffy. "It's a clue, Angel… I need to figure it out." 

         "Yeah, but in the meantime," Angel added, louder for them all to hear, "no one better go chop wood, especially alone," he warned. 

         They all nodded like the idea of doing that was insane. Then Cordy sighed and asked, "Are we going crazy? Is this a dream? Because I'd like to wake up now!" 

         "It's not a dream, pet," answered Spike, softly. "This is very real." 

         Cordy stood up and began to pace, "Guys, we don't just _die_, okay? We're champions, remember? This is insane!" 

         And some of them thought: _Methinks the lady doth protest too much…_

         "Even champions die, Cordy…" said Angel, looking at her pointedly. 

         Cordy saw his expression, then nodded. "Yes… yes, they do," she said and resumed her place. 

         "Huh?" asked Buffy, looking at the change in Cordy's demeanor. 

         "Someone we knew. Long story," he explained cryptically. 

         Buffy didn't say anything, but inwardly scowled. Since when have Angel and Cordy been so buddy-buddy, that they had 'long stories' now? Although she knew it was selfish, she had to admit she didn't like how close the two had become. And since Buffy had thought that she would have never seen the day the former cheerleader and her ex-lover would be 'close' friends, she now was pretty sure that seeing the day one of her friends could kill her sister and Watcher wasn't so far behind.   
          

* * *

         Spike saw them tiring and forced his eyes to focus on the book. The Watcher was holding this book last… He had a hunch the old man had been on to something… the answer must be inside. He would find it. 

         _And you think a runt like you could find the answer to this?_

         Spike lifted his head at the sound, but saw everyone still immersed in their books. He shook his head and concentrated on the page in front of him. 

         _Now, William, you don't think you could actually **do** this, do you? Why don't you leave it to those who can do their job? It's not really like you had a chance._

         Spike looked up again, knowing he was just hearing things. I *can* do this. I must, he thought. He pushed the voice away and went back to the book. 

         _I suppose you think I would find it admirable that you are so dedicated, said the voice. But you forget I know the kind of… man, if I could use the word, you are. You're a spineless, self-absorbed runt is what you are. Poetry and feelings and all. Nothing like the British gent you should be, I'll say._

         No, thought Spike. My father's dead. Has been the last hundred and odd years. I will not let my mind play tricks on me. 

         _Stupid charver,_ the voice mocked. _Doesn't even know when he's dreaming or not. Do you not know that you can never fathom the kind of being I am? Or has your mind been polluted by your inappropriate lust for your blonde tart? Only a bloody weakling would consume himself with such a whore…_

         "She is NOT A WHORE!" he screamed out, rising out of his seat. He looked around and saw them all staring at him. 

         "Spike?" asked Cordy, nervously. He shook his head and resumed his position, very much aware of the seven sets of eyes focused on him in fear and suspicion. 

         My father is dead, he said in his mind, my father is dead. The bloody wanker's dead and if he knows what's good for him he'll stay dead. I've had enough of the bastard for one lifetime.   
          

* * *

         Cordy sat in shock over Spike's outburst. Were they all going mad? She tried to concentrate on the book, but it was long and boring. Demons, demons, and more demons. Lord, what she wouldn't do for her database back at the office. She could have narrowed this down to eight demons by now. That is, if they were even *looking* for demons. 

         With Giles dead, she was growing more certain that he was telling the truth. Meaning the barrier did exist and demons would have no power here. So what were they trying to find? 

         Someone was hunting them, she thought. Hunting them down. 

         "Come on, Marcus… you can't hide from us!"   
         "Marky-Marky… got the mack on Cordy, dontcha?"   
         "Come out, come out, Perry… I got a bat with your name on it… teach you to mess with our girls…" 

         "Max, don't! A bat? That's… that's not cool!"   
         "Got a soft spot for the nerd, huh? Okay, Cordy… you decide his punishment…"   
         "Punishment? Guys, we don't have…"   
         "Come on, Cordelia, you're not wimping out, are you?"   
         "We thought you were cool…"   
         "I am… but…"   
         "What'll it be, Queen C?"   
         "Um… just… just tie him up to the tree, okay?"   
         "Woo-hoo! You're smart, Cordy! Great idea!" 

         "Cordelia, my love… I'm so…"   
         "What, sorry? God, grow up, Marcus… you embarrassed me! Me! Cordelia! The most popular girl in school!"   
         "I know, I throw myself at your…"   
         "Yeach! Please! I was coming back to untie you but you know… maybe you *do* need a lesson… maybe a bigger one at that…"   
         "What are you doing? Cordelia?!"   
         "You know what it's like to have yourself exposed before the school? Well, now you will, buddy… Off with your shoes…"   
         "Cordelia, no! Please! Don't!"   
         "Maybe you should have thought about that before, buddy! What ever made you think you could have *me*?!" 

         She hadn't been honest… not even with herself. _She_ was responsible for Marcus' death, not just a party to it. She was going to die a brutal death, just like Dawn, and Tara, and Giles. 

         And maybe , she thought, shaking in fear, maybe she deserved it…   
          

* * *

         Minutes stretched into hours and soon, the humans of the group had to eat again. Spike and Angel agreed they had to sit through the meal in order for them to stay together. So, the two vampires and Anya sat at the table, reading as Buffy set it while Xander and Cordy were in the kitchen, preparing the food. 

         "See… seven," Buffy pointed out to Angel and Spike. "Seven Indians…" 

         Spike nodded with a weak smile, then returned to the book in front of him. 

         Cordelia brought out a steaming bowl as she suggested they go get Willow. Anya and Buffy said they would go when they heard her screaming from above. They rushed upstairs and unlocked the door to see Willow screaming and pointing to the drawer of the nightstand. Buffy looked closer and saw the drawer was filled with ice cubes. 

         "I never meant it!" Willow screamed. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" 

         Buffy remembered how Willow had killed those two students with the sheets of ice and tried to calm the redhead down. 

         "Shhh… it's okay, Willow… it's just a mean trick…" 

         "It was an accident… please… believe me…" 

         "We do," soothed Buffy. "We know you didn't mean it…" 

         "The killer's messing with you, that's all, Red… Here, drink this," Spike said, pulling out a silver flask. "It'll calm your nerves." 

         Willow eyed the flask suspiciously and shook her head. "How do I know you're not trying to poison me?" she said. 

         Buffy looked at the flask and said, "I'll go get you some water," going to the adjoining bathroom. 

         Spike smiled a little at her ingenuity then said, "I wouldn't do that, pet. If I were to kill you, I wouldn't do it with an audience… they'd stake me in a heartbeat. But if you feel so strongly, here," he said, taking a swig himself. When nothing happened, he offered it again and Willow took it hesitantly. 

         She eyed it carefully again, then grimaced. "Ew, you backwashed." 

         Buffy came back with the water, but saw Willow holding the flask. 

         Spike looked at her, indignantly and said, "I have you know that's premium whiskey! If you don't want it, don't have to drink it, luv. More for me," he said, reaching to take the flask back, but inwardly smiled as she lifted it to her lips and took a small sip, coughing slightly as the bitter, warm liquid went down her throat. 

         "Thank you," she said, handing the flask back. "Although it tastes awful…" 

         "Acquired taste," Spike smirked. 

         Willow smiled, then her smile faded as she said, "I woke up and reached over. I felt ice everywhere. I thought they were coming back for me, to teach me a lesson," she shuddered. "Who would do this to me?" she cried. 

         "This murderer's messing with our minds… he's getting personal," said Angel. 

         "Speaking of which… where's Xander?" asked Anya, from behind Angel. 

         They all turned to see Xander, nowhere to be found.   
          

* * *

         Xander heard a few bumps and scrapes from the other room and put down the knife he was using to cut the vegetables. He cocked his ear and heard nothing, so he continued cutting. 

         He wasn't going to let every noise and sound scare him. He was a man, after all. He'd seen worse… worse demons, worse witches, worse situations… true, none of them led to some of them *dying* before, but they would get through this, they would. 

         Besides, Xander was pretty sure he knew who it was. He just had to prove it. 

         Imagine, trying to accuse him of murdering his brother. Aaron _fell out of a tree_, it was an accident! 

         _Really?_

         "Huh?" Xander said out loud, spinning on his heel. No, there were no voices… 

         "Xander! You watch your brother now!"   
         "Aww, Mom, do I have to?!" 

         No, this wasn't happening… not again… 

         "Xander! Look at that tree! It's up in the clouds! Can I climb that tree, Xander? Please? I want to touch the clouds!"   
         "No! It's too high! You're going to hurt yourself!" 

         "Dude, where's your brother?"   
         "Over there… annoying brat…always following me around…"   
         "Yeah, dude, that sucks!"   
         "God, I hate my brother... man, you're lucky you got sisters…" 

         Xander would do anything to have Aaron back, right? He… he loved his brother… he never meant it… he never meant to turn him away... 

         "Xander… I want to cl-…"   
         "Augh! Why can't you just leave me alone?! Get away from me!"   
         "But… Xander…"   
         "Do whatever the hell you want! Just leave me alone!" 

         "Xander, look at me!"   
         "Aaron, NO!" 

         "NOOO!" Xander cried out loud. He covered his head with his hands, blubbering uncontrollably. 

         "Time to pay the piper…" said the voice. "And the price is death…" 

         Xander's eyes widened as he looked up to face his killer. "You…" he breathed. "I knew it was you! It had to be!" 

         "Yes, Xander, for once, you figured something out on your own," the killer said, as the butcher knife slid into him. "Too bad you won't live to enjoy it…"   
          

* * *

         "Last I saw him, he was in the kitchen, making the salad…" added Cordelia, racing down the hall. 

         They all followed her down to the kitchen and Cordelia, who was the first, saw Xander standing at the counter, back to them. 

         "Xander?" she said, quietly. 

         Xander didn't move so she crept closer and touched his shoulder. Pulling him around, his legs gave out and he slipped to the floor. 

         Cordelia looked down at the butcher knife protruding from his chest and let loose an incredible scream. Xander stared blankly at her, with unresponsive eyes. 

         Angel came around and lifted Xander's inert body so he could lay him down as Spike reached over and pulled Cordy back. 

         Willow stood horrified as Buffy rushed out into the dining room. She saw Anya already there, staring at the table. When she came in, Anya said nervously, "I had to check, too. Look!" she pointed to the centerpiece. "Six Indians…"   
          

* * *


	8. Six Little Indians

**Chapter 6: Six Little Indians...**

* * *

         After they carried Xander to his room, they gathered in the sitting room, in confusion over what just happened. 

         "Why didn't we hear Xander scream?" Willow asked. 

         Buffy shrugged. "With what happened to you and everything, his voice could have been drowned out in the confusion…" she suggested. 

         "But it doesn't make sense…" said Cordy. "He wasn't chopping wood. Has the killer stopped following the poem?" 

         "No," said Spike, he and Angel coming in from the dining room. "Xander was chopping sticks," he explained, taking a bite out of some celery. "Celery sticks." 

         "God…" moaned Buffy. 

         "How can you be so callous?!" cried Anya, snatching the celery from Spike's hand. "Xander just _died_, okay?! My fian – … my _ex_-fiancé just _died_," she corrected herself, quietly. 

         Spike looked at her, a little crestfallen. "Sorry, ducks. I… I didn't mean…" he reached for her, but she turned away and sat down. 

         "We're never going to make it home, are we?" asked Willow, forlornly. "Monday seems so far away, and…" 

         "We're going to get out of this… I promise!" cried Buffy. "We just have to figure out how…" 

         "We will…" started Angel. 

         "No, we won't," interrupted Spike. "Fess up, Peaches, you don't think we're going to get off this island alive any more than we do, do you?" 

         Buffy stared at Spike, who had grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the refreshment table and slid to the ground in a corner and opened it, fully intending on drinking the whole thing. "You don't think we'll make it?" she whispered, her voice full of disappointment. 

         "No, Slayer. I don't," he answered harshly. "It's too late, can't you see? We're all paying, the good, the evil… _the wicked is snared in the work of his own hands. The wicked shall be turned into hell_ and all that crap…" 

         "What are you talking about?" asked Anya, bitterly. 

         "Xander didn't kill his brother… he was a good man. I'm evil and I killed my father… there I've said it!" he screamed out to the ceiling. "I purposely dallied and let my father die! Because I hated him! He made my life hell! And now I'm here and Xander isn't and whoever's doing this is sick! I deserve to die, not Xander! Not Dawn! Not Tara! And not Giles! And not any of you…" he said, pointing to them. "But you all will… and like my _father_ is quite willing to point out, even from his grave, I can't do a bloody thing about it! So forgive me, dear Slayer, if I'm not quite so optimistic…" He expertly opened the bottle and took a large swig as Buffy stared at him, horrified. 

         "Spike… you can't give up… we need you!" she cried. 

         "Need me? Since when have you needed a soulless vampire, Summers?" he mocked, taking another drink from the bottle. 

         Buffy started to say something, then turned her back on him, only to turn to him again and say bitterly, "Poor Spike… poor, poor Spike." 

         Spike looked at her and took yet another drink as if to say, I don't rather care what you think. 

         "You think you're such a victim… poor Spike. His dad terrorized him. Well, I never had a dad, okay?! Mine just got up and left me!" Buffy came up and grabbed him by the throat, her fingers tightening around his airway. "Poor Spike, you think you're the only one that's killed?! We all have, in some way or another! Allan Finch, I was there and I said nothing! I might as well have staked him myself! Poor Spike, you think we're going to die? Well, fine! You know what? Die! But I'm not going to." She tightened her grip some more and yelled, "I'm the Slayer! I'm not going to stand around here and feel sorry for myself! Someone is killing us! And I'm not going to wait until that happens!" 

         She stood up and grabbed the book he was reading before and flung it at him. 

         "Poor Spike, feel sorry for yourself, why don't you? But like it or not, I need you. I need you to help me figure this out. And you made a promise to be there as long as I needed you. So, start reading!" 

         With that said, she threw herself in the armchair with another book, looking at them all, daring anyone of them to speak and contradict her. Spike massaged his throat and took another long drink from the bottle, coughing slightly. Then, staring at her with eyes that could kill, he picked up the book and started reading. 

         And when the others saw this, they too began to read. 

* * *

         As he read, Angel thought a lot about what Spike said. _The wicked is snared in the work of his own hands. The wicked shall be turned into hell._ Psalms 9:16-17… 

         Angel had been to hell, he knew what it was like. It was so ironic, with all the chances he'd been given to redeem himself from his sins, he was paying for the original one. Ironic how biblical this was all becoming… 

         And since when did Spike quote the Good Word? Angel's family had been religious enough in the day that the Bible was memorized by age seven, but as far as he knew, the British were less than faithful. 

         Angel cursed his old prejudices that were once again getting between him and his childe. There had been so many problems in the past because of that… 

         And now Angel was suspecting Spike of killing them? Maybe the barrier works against his chip, maybe he _was_ killing again. But he wasn't feeding, so what was the point? He could hardly believe after all this time, Spike would kill for fun and not feed. 

         He looked around. Maybe Anya, he thought. She was a vengeance demon. No powers, but… she wouldn't have killed Xander, dspite all that had happened between them. She loved him. And Tara… she had liked Tara. No, it couldn't be. 

         He dismissed Buffy, despite what he said before about no exceptions. He knew her, she wouldn't kill her sister. Willow, too. He knew how much in love she was in with Tara. 

         That left… Cordy. No, not his Cordy… He looked at her as she innocently flipped a page, obviously bored. Sure, Cordy wasn't the most unselfish one of the group, but she was a champion, they had gone through so much together. And there was… krymption, they had kyrumption, as Fred said. 

         But there was also the demon in her. Angel knew more about demons and how, despite the good in the person, how the demon can take hold and… 

         No, not Cordy… not _his_ Cordy… he moaned in his head. He didn't want to believe… 

* * *

         Anya's mind was spinning. It was like the last thousand years flashed before her eyes. Seeing Xander dead… she couldn't begin to express how she felt. She was so confused. 

         And now, more and more, her thoughts turned to Leif. Was Giles right? Was she trying to play God? 

         She was a vengeance demon! she reminded herself, that was her job! No, wait… Leif was before that… when she was Aud. 

         Life was hard. She had to make choices, she knew. The girl was needed, Leif was not, she said to herself again, convincing herself. 

         Besides, it was too late now, what's done was done. She couldn't take it back. Not now. Not anymore… 

* * *

         The clock chimed twelve. Cordy yawned and said, "That's it. I can't take this any more. I'm going to bed…" 

         "Not alone," warned Angel, an edge to his voice. 

         She scowled at him in confusion then nudged Anya and Willow. "Come on, guys." 

         They grabbed the books they had to read upstairs and said their good nights. 

         Angel looked over to Buffy, who hadn't moved from her place all night and Spike, who was still in his corner, obviously intoxicated. 

         "You're tired," he told her. "Maybe you should get some rest, too." 

         "I can't," she said. "I need an answer, Angel." 

         "We'll find it, Buffy. But you can't do anything if you're exhausted. You have no Slayer strength. Please, you need to rest." 

         Buffy looked at Angel and knew he was right. For a moment, she felt so happy he was so calm and in control. He was her anchor, she knew that. "Okay, let's go," she said, rising from her seat. 

         "What about him?" he said, indicating to Spike. 

         Buffy looked at Spike, curled up in his corner with the book and the bottle. She sighed. "Spike?" she called. "Spike!" she said, nudging him with her boot. 

         He made a few incoherent sounds and swatted her foot away. 

         "Forget it. We're not carrying him," she said, having had her fill of the blond vampire. 

         "But it's not safe… the killer…" 

         "I'll lock the door and put the key in my room, okay?" she suggested. 

         "But…" 

         "But what?" 

         Angel didn't suspect Buffy, right? It would be safe. "Uh, nothing. Sounds good." 

         So that's what they did, leaving Spike in his drunken haze. 

* * *

         Spike saw the shifting shapes in the dark. He felt a nudge on his thigh. If he squinted, he thought he could see a mass of shimmering gold… 

         He could see her, in his bed, sleeping peacefully… 

         "You were singing that… before, to Dawn…"   
         "Now, who was spying on who?" 

         _Angels watching ever round thee,   
         All through the night…_

         Bleeding tune… wouldn't leave his head… 

         _In thy slumbers close surround thee,   
         All through the night…_

         He had to help her… help his love… The Watcher knew it and it was at the tip of his own tongue. The clause he was reading about… what was it again? Spike struggled for coherent thought. 

         "One of them had done it, and he was damn proud too. Killed himself after all of them to commit what he thought was the perfect crime."   
         _An eternal reward for the perfect evil… _

         "The wicked is snared in the work of his own hands. The wicked shall be turned into hell."   
         _Something that could unleash all hell on earth…_

         Wonder if there are any bees on this island, the thought struck him… playing with a hive, a hive of suspicion and distrust… bound to get stung, old chap… a bee stung one and then there were… 

         _They should of all fears disarm thee   
         No forebodings should alarm thee,   
         They will let no peril harm thee,   
         All through the night…_

         Then, for a moment, it was suddenly so clear… He tried to open his eyes, to call out. It was so dark. He felt the bottle in his lap shift and wondered if he was drunk… 

         "You let your father die, William… naughty, naughty boy…" The voice reminded him oddly of Drusilla. 

         "Dru?" he slurred. 

         "No… not Dru… not that whore… you thought you could get away from him, from me… now pay for your deceit… prisoner at bar, have you anything to say in your defense?!" the voice shrieked. 

         Spike tried to open his eyes, and then realized he couldn't. His father had been right, about so many things, he couldn't figure it out… not in time, at least. It was too late… much too late. 

         He managed to croak out, "Tell her… tell her… I loved her… I always will…" 

         "Who?" The question came to him in surprise. 

         "Buffy…" he slurred. "I… love… her… Tell her… Too late… for us… but… love… her…" 

         _Fondly then I dream of thee, love,   
         All through the night…   
         Walking still thy form I see love,   
         All through the night…_

         "Now you will be purified," said the voice. "The purity of living water…" He could hear the bees buzzing in his ear, just before he felt the small prick… 

         _When this mortal coil is over,   
         Will thy gentle spirit hover,   
         O'er the bed where sleeps thy lover…_

         Just as he felt the fire in his chest and his body burn away in response, he managed to moan out, 

         "All… through the… night…" 

* * *


	9. Five Little Indians

**Chapter 7: Five Little Indians...**

* * *

_[the next morning]_

         "Morning…" mumbled Willow, as she fumbled into the dining room. She then saw no one there and groggily sat at the table. She had slept badly and she was sure it showed. She kept dreaming that she was being chased by a huge sheet of ice… 

         Willow shook her thoughts away. Research… they need to research. After all, what else could they do? She reached over to grab the pitcher of water and saw… 

         Five Indians. Five… not six. Oh, no… She rushed upstairs and knocked on all the doors, frantically. 

         As the rest opened theirs door quickly, she counted as each walked into the small hallway. "Three… four… five… whose missing? Spike!" 

         Willow began to bang on Spike's door, before Buffy grabbed her arm and said, "Willow! What's got into you?" 

         "Five Indians!" she yelled. "On the table! Spike!" 

         She continued to try to pound on his door, when Buffy's eyes widened and said, as she ran into her room. "He's not there… He's in the sitting room," she said, showing them the key and running downstairs. 

         The five of them reached the sitting room as Buffy unlocked the door and looked at the corner Spike had been in. 

         He wasn't there. 

         Instead, they saw an almost empty bottle, a book and a broken Indian statue. The walls were blackened and charred. 

         "Oh, my God!" exclaimed Willow. She ran to the corner and examined it. 

         "What happened?" asked Cordy. 

         Willow ran her hand on the wall. "B-burnt. H-he's gone…" 

         "Yes, but how?" asked Anya, impatiently. "He was already dead!" 

         "What's that, Willow? By your foot?" asked Angel. 

         Willow saw what Angel was pointing at and picked it up. A syringe, with a bit of a colorless liquid in it. She allowed a drop to fall on her hand and sniffed it carefully. 

         "Water," she said, "No almonds." 

         "How does water…?" started Cordy, then saw as Angel carefully touched the drop on Willow's hand and took away quickly, his finger burnt. 

         "Holy water," answered Angel. "Someone injected him with a syringeful of holy water." 

         "Right into his bloodstream," said Willow. "He burned inside out," she said, touching the blackened wall, sick to her stomach. 

         "Come on," said Anya, unbelieving, "surely Spike would not have let someone _do_ that?" 

         Willow looked around and picked up the bottle of whiskey. "Since when have you know Spike to get drunk on _one_ bottle? He's drunk Giles under the table before…" She handed the bottle to Angel, who took a small sip. 

         "It's tainted," he agreed, recovering quickly from the small pain he felt. "But very diluted, almost didn't do a thing…" 

         "…unless you drink the whole bottle," Cordy added, understanding. "With everything that happened yesterday, he probably didn't notice until he was well into the bottle." 

         "And we thought he was drunk…" added Angel. 

         "He was defenseless against his attacker," Willow summed up. 

         "_Six Indian boys playing with a hive; a bumble-bee stung one then there were five…_" recited Buffy, sadly. They turned to see her standing behind them, tears streaming down her face,holding the body of a dead bumblebee in between her fingers. 

         "Buffy?" Angel asked, never thinking she would be so grief-stricken over his childe. 

         "I failed him, Angel," she moaned. "He was always there when I needed him and I was never there for him. I pushed him away, rejected him… it was never fair…" she sobbed, crumpling to the ground. 

         Willow went over and took Buffy into her arms as she cried, while the others looked at Buffy, surprised. 

         "It's not fair!" she told them. "He _was_ a good man! Really good! It's. Just. Not. Fair!" 

* * *

         When Buffy had finally calmed down, the five went into the dining room to have breakfast. No one ate very much, just played with their food as they began to look at each other critically. 

         "Buffy's acting strange… is she overcompensating? She didn't care for Spike THAT much…"   
         "Anya's a demon… It has to be Anya…"   
         "Willow and her magic! She's gone too far!"   
         "Angelus is back… there's no other option…it can't be…   
         "Cordy and the demon inside her… no, not Cordy…" 

         And the killer mentally rolled up sleeves, ready to finally get down to business. 

* * *

         They sat in the sitting room, giving up all pretense of research. Somehow, the answer wasn't in the books. It was in the room. One of them did this. One of them was hurting them, killing them. But who? 

         Finally Cordy couldn't take it any longer. "I need some time alone. I'm going to my room," she announced. 

         "Not alone," said Angel, edge to his voice. 

         "Okay, that's twice now! What? You think _I_ did this?!" she yelled at him. 

         "You said yourself you don't know about the demon inside you! How are we to know what you now capable of?!" 

         "What!?" she shrieked. "I can't believe after everything we've been through, you would suspect _me_!" 

         "I don't know, Cordy! You hated Xander and Spike! You never thought highly of Giles…" 

         "I liked Giles! And as much hell as Xander and Spike put me through, I wouldn't _kill_ them!" Cordy crossed her arms. "You know, maybe _you_ did it… You hated Spike, too. And Xander… Maybe you got a happy and Angelus…" 

         "I'm not Angelus!" he raged. 

         "Really?! How do we know, you've tricked us before! You've been so calm and collected through this all… maybe you killed them!" 

         "I… I didn't!" he argued. 

         "Hmm… we'll see… I got my eye on you… all of you…" said Cordy. Then she poked Anya. "Come with me upstairs," she told her. 

         Anya rose but then Willow rose, too. "Shouldn't we be three?" she asked them. 

         Cordy shrugged and said, "Come if you want, but we're five now, odd. So you come with us, Buffy's down here alone with _him_…" she jerked her thumb at Angel. 

         Willow hesitated then sat down. 

         "What, you don't trust me, either?" Angel said, bitterly. 

         "I don't trust anyone," she countered as Anya and Cordy went upstairs. 

         Angel sat thoughtfully, then said, "Maybe you should reconsider your alliances, Willow. As I recall, only one of us had access to Spike last night." 

         "What?" asked Willow, as Buffy's eyes narrowed at Angel. 

         "You think _I_ killed Spike?" she said. 

         "You were the only one with a key to the sitting room," he said, nonchalantly. "Stands to reason that…" 

         "I DID NOT KILL SPIKE!" she yelled at him. 

         "Really? Then who did? Who could get in here without the key?" he demanded. 

         "I don't know! I don't know!" she cried out. 

         "Besides, you never liked Spike anyway, he was your enemy, right?" reasoned Angel. 

         "That's not true! I loved him!" she screamed. "I loved Spike!" 

         A silence invaded the room as Angel sat back down, heavily. He looked at her, with anguish in his eyes as she averted her face. 

         "You what?" he whispered, watching her hiccup sobs. 

         "I – I – I loved him," she whispered back, watching Willow's look of surprise. "God, I can't believe I couldn't see until now! I… I never _told_ him… I loved him," she said, again, testing the words on her lips, amazed at how light she felt now that she had said them. 

         But it was all too late. 

         "God, it's not fair," she moaned, cradling her head in her arms. "It's _so_ not fair…" 

* * *

         They didn't speak for a while, each silently stewing in their own juices. No one knew quite what to say. 

         After what seemed like hours, they heard a small boom from the cellar and rushed to the small staircase to see what happened. When they saw nothing out of the ordinary, Angel said, "I'm going to go check it out." 

         "You can't go alone!" cried Willow. 

         "Why not? It's like either of you will come, I'm the killer, right?" he mocked, reaching for the flashlight. 

         "But…" 

         "And if either of you two stays here alone, the killer could get you," he reasoned. 

         "Yes, but what if the killer is down there and kills _you_?" she asked. 

         Angel looked at Willow then at Buffy, intently. "Right now, I'm past caring if _I_ live or die…" he said bitterly, then descended the steps. 

         Willow looked at Buffy and said, "I don't like this…" 

         "Me, neither." 

         "We need to do something…" 

         Buffy nodded. She went into the kitchen and got a knife. Willow followed her, saw that and said, "I have a stake in my bag upstairs. I snuck it past Giles." 

         Buffy nodded again. "Go get it." 

         "But…" 

         "Go!" 

         Willow ran upstairs as Buffy walked back to the front hall, towards the cellar door. She had no idea what she was going to do, but the knife in her hand helped her feel better. 

         She put her hand on the stairway railing and heard Cordy scream. She ran upstairs, taking the stairs two at a time. She came to find Cordy crying at Anya's door and Willow breathing hard, stake in hand. 

         "What happened?" she asked. 

         "Anya…" hiccupped Cordy. "She's dead…" 

         "What? How?" asked Buffy. 

         "Hit… in the head… with a gavel…" she managed to get out, opening the door to show them. 

         Willow and Buffy saw Anya lying in her bed, covered in a black robe and head covered in a white wig. There was a gavel in her hand and a huge, red mark on her forehead. 

         Buffy hung her head. "Gavel… Justice… I should have known," she said, closing the door. 

         "Huh?" asked Willow. 

         "The poem. _Five Indian boys going in for law; one got in Chancery then there were four._ Justice… Vengeance… if that doesn't spell Anya, I don't know what does." 

         Cordy looked around. "Where's Angel?" 

         "Cellar. We heard a noise…" explained Willow, as Angel came up. 

         "What? What happened?" he asked. 

         "Anya," Buffy said, as if that explained everything. "You find something?" 

         "Busted pipe," he said, looking into the room, then closing it as if her death was somewhat expected. "So, another acquitted too late…" he mused. 

         "Yeah, seems like," Buffy said, dully, as she led them all downstairs. 

* * *


	10. Four Little Indians

**Chapter 8: Four Little Indians...**

* * *

         Buffy twirled the stake expertly in her hand as she stared Angel down. Cordy sat curled up on the couch, eyeing Willow, who was looking at Buffy provoking Angel. 

         The four sat, looking at each other, silently daring the other to make the first move. Each of them forgot the next day was Monday and the goal had been to stay alive until then. Now, as the sun began to set, the goal became who could get the other to crack first. It was survival of the fittest with a dash of bring it on. 

         Finally Willow had had enough. "I'm going to bed." 

         When Cordy rose to go with her, Willow stopped her. "Alone," she stressed. 

         "What, now _you_ don't trust _me_?" 

         "Last time, you 'helped' someone upstairs, they ended up dead!" 

         "I didn't kill Anya! God! Why do you all keep accusing me?" she cried. 

         Willow's face softened. "Sorry, Cordy. I don't trust anyone now. Too much has happened for me to do that." 

         "Fine!" Cordy asserted. "Then I don't trust any of you." She walked to the front door and opened it. 

         "Where are you going?" asked Buffy, worriedly. 

         "Out for a walk… try and stop me!" she said, slamming the door behind her. 

         Buffy made to go after her, when Willow stopped her. "Leave her be." 

         "But the killer…?" 

         "What makes you think she isn't the killer?" asked Willow, frankly. She looked at Buffy, then Angel. "From now on, it's every man, woman… and demon for himself." 

         Buffy's jaw worked, but she said nothing as Willow went upstairs. 

* * *

         An hour later, Buffy was flipping through the last book Spike had, thinking of him and the love she found too late, when she remembered Cordy wasn't back yet. 

         Angel had paced back and forth between the rooms, looking out the windows at the storm clouds looming and showing obvious concern. 

         "What?" she asked him. "Don't tell me you _care_ where Cordy is?" 

         "Of course, I _care_…" answered Angel. "She's my friend, Buffy, she's my…" 

         "What?" asked Buffy, straightening. "Your what, Angel?" 

         Angel sighed and walked out of the room. Buffy followed him and grabbed his shirt, spinning him around. 

         "What, Angel?! Your lover?! You slept with her, didn't you? You're Angelus!" 

         Angel laughed. "If I was Angelus, would I be pacing a hole in the ground?!" he asked. "You don't think I would have eviscerated you by now?!" 

         Buffy flinched slightly, as if she hadn't thought of that. 

         "And not that it's any of your business, but yes, I love her… There, are you happy?!" he yelled. 

         "You… you love Cordelia?" Buffy asked, confused. 

         "She's changed, Buffy. More than any of you will know. She's my best friend and I love her…" 

         Buffy went back into the sitting room and sat down, stunned her suspicion was true. Angel came in behind her and said, "Oh, why do you even care? You've been sleeping with Spike behind our backs!" 

         "Spike was different." 

         "So is Cordelia!" he argued. "Everyone else in LA was happy for me, why can't you?" 

         "Because you can tell her that and I can't tell Spike!" she yelled. "Not any more," she whispered. 

         Angel looked at Buffy who looked at him with sad eyes. "Go," she said and Angel didn't hesitate but ran out into the night to find Cordelia. 

         Buffy walked over to the burnt spot in the corner and touched the wall. Then she collapsed in tears. 

* * *

         He heard the thunder roll as he ran across the back way. Angel searched for fifteen minutes. No sign of Cordelia. No, let it not be too late… he thought. I love her! 

         _Like you loved me?_

         Angel turned to the voice. No one was there. He was dreaming, right? 

         _You'll be hurting everyone you love, Liam. Buffy, Cordy… even me…_

         "Who are you?" he asked out loud. 

         _Come on, Liam. Don't you know the voice of your betrothed?_

         "No, you don't exist! I'm repenting for my sins! Why can't you let me be?!" he said, noting the unconscious slip of an Irish brogue in his voice again. 

         _Because you can't repent for this, Liam. The Powers let you repent for your demon's sins, but this one's your own. And I won't let you hurt her._

         "No! I love her! Please!" 

         _It's too late, Liam._

         "No! No! NOOOO!" Angel cried as the storm broke out, pouring rain over him. 

* * *


	11. Three Little Indians

**Chapter 9: Three Little Indians...**

* * *

         Buffy rapped on Willow's door. She felt she needed to apologize. She was going to die. She was certain of that now, but she wasn't going to go until she had said all the things she wanted to say to her best friend. She would't let another chance go by when she could say what she needed to, be honest. 

         No answer. She knocked again, a little more loudly. 

         Again, nothing. Buffy tested the doorknob and the door opened. No Willow. Fear struck Buffy as she felt something wet splatter on her face. Rain poured in from the window. The broken window. Buffy ran to it and looked out. She saw two dark shapes on the ground below. One was oddly shaped… 

         Buffy's eyes widened and she ran. Ran out the room, down the stairs, out the front door, grabbing the stake Willow had given her on the way out. She ran to the spot under Willow's window and saw what happened. 

         Someone had pushed the huge grandfather clock in her room right on top of Willow. The clock that according to Cordy's fashion sense, meant the decorator was suffering an aneurysm at the time. The one, that like in all their rooms, was shaped like a huge bear. 

         _Three Indian boys walking in the zoo;   
         A big bear hugged one then there were two._

         Wait, what happened to four? 

         Cordy… Angel… 

         Buffy ran to where Angel was sitting on the back porch, soaked in the rain. 

         "Angel… where's Cordy?" 

         The vampire looked up and Buffy saw that it was not only rain on his cheeks. "I…I can't find her," he said, mournfully. 

         "Come on, we have to find her… Willow's dead!" 

         "What?" said Angel, as Buffy dragged him to his feet. They searched the grounds to no avail, then Buffy said, "_Four Indian boys going out to sea; a red herring swallowed one then there were three…_ Let's check the beach out." 

         They ran to the beach, just as the rain began to let up. They searched high and low, but still no sign. Then Angel saw the flash of white by the cliff and as they approached, they saw what it was. Cordelia. 

         "She drowned?" said Buffy, stunned. 

         "No, someone pushed her," Angel said, dully, pointing to the cliffs. 

* * *


	12. Two Little Indians

**Chapter 10: Two Little Indians...**

* * *

         Eons passed… worlds spun and whirled… Time was motionless… It stood still – it passed through a thousand ages… no, it was only a minute or so… Two standing looking down at the dead woman… Slowly, very slowly, Buffy and Angel lifted their heads and looked into each other's eyes…. 

         Angel laughed. "So, that's it, isn't it, Buffy?" 

         "You," she breathed. 

         "I can't believe it…" he said. 

         "There's no one on the island…no one at all, except us two…" 

         "Exactly. So now we know, don't we?" 

         "How do you do that? You know… the trick with the bear clock?" Buffy asked, circling about him slowly. 

         "Oh, you'd love for me to confess to that, wouldn't you?" he added, chuckling, circling with her. Then he grew serious and said, "This is the end, you know. We've come to the truth and it's the end." 

         "Oh, I know…" she said. "I just can't believe I let you fool me for so long," she added, pulling the stake out. 

         "Slayer until the end," he said, then started to laugh like a maniac at the absurdity of it all. 

         Buffy heard him laugh and went into automatic pilot. She had no Slayer strength but her training served her well as she kicked him in the face. 

         As her boot met his jaw, he vamped out, rising and punching her in the stomach. Buffy recoiled, but with the lack of vampiric strength, she recovered quickly. 

         She remembered the stake in her hand and she used it well, kicking him in the thigh, then pushing him to the tree, slamming the stake into him. 

         Angel gasped in pain, then said, "You missed." 

         "I don't miss," breathed out Buffy. 

         At Angel's look of confusion, she looked at the sky and said, "_Two little Indian boys sitting in the sun; one got all frizzled up then there was one._ Thought you might want to stick to your poem…" 

         Angel couldn't smell it, but he saw the sky change colors and knew the sun was on its way. Panic filled him. 

         "Buffy, please don't do this… I know about the evil… I've felt it… We'll work through it… I promise." 

         "Stop lying! I know you killed them, Angel! Or should I say Angelus? But I'll be damned if a vampire gets the best of a Slayer!" 

         "Buffy, I didn't do it! I swear! I loved her! I love you!" 

         Buffy looked into Angel's eyes and saw a combination of fear and love. She felt the sky brightened and knew the sunrise was close. 

         "Close your eyes," she said, a reminiscent memory of the last time they were in this situation floating in her head. She thrust the stake in closer, pinning him to the tree. "And this time, stay there," she whispered, mutinously. 

         She saw the shock in his eyes over her words as the first rays hit them both, setting Angel on fire. She watched passively as he disintegrated before her eyes, leaving the tree scorched. 

         She walked over tiredly to Angel's love and looked at her. Peaceful Cordelia was in death. She pulled Cordelia up to the shore, out of the water, out of the tide's reach and walked into the house. 

* * *


	13. One Little Indian

**Chapter 11: One Little Indian...**

* * *

         Relief possessed Buffy – enormous, exquisite relief. At last it was over. There was no more fear – no more panic… She was alone on the island… alone with nine dead bodies… but what did that matter? _She_ was alive… she felt so at peace… She was free, so finally free! 

         She hated that it came to this; that everyone had to die before she could see Angelus' deceit and dispatch him for good. But at least it was done now. Angelus was gone for good and he would _never_ hurt her again… 

         What to do now? It was Monday, so… wait until Fred Narracott came with the boat. She'd have to speak to the Council about this and she was sure they would have lots of questions, but she would handle it then. But, first things first. She was hungry and tired but hungry first, so she walked into the dining room and grabbed an apple, taking a huge bite. 

         Oh, how sweet it tasted when you were not scared for your life! 

         Twirling the burnt stake in her hand absently, she set it down on the table as she saw the four Indians on the centerpiece. "You're behind the times, my dears," she crowed and she grabbed three of them and smashed them at her feet before snatching the fourth as she walked up to her room. "We won, you and me," she said to it. "We won against them all!" 

         As Buffy climbed the stairs, she thought, that poem… how does it end again? He went and got married and then there were none? Maybe there was such thing as happily ever after. 

         _No, there isn't._

         "Huh?" said Buffy. 

         _Come on B, when are you finally going get this?! We're Slayers, girlfriend, the Chosen Two…_

         So? thought Buffy. Slayers can live happily ever after, right? 

         The Faith voice added, _What? Picket fences? A dog in the front yard? Barbeque with the neighbors? Grow up, B! That ain't going to happen. Your gift is…_

         _Your gift is death…_ Buffy recognized the voice of the first Slayer. 

         "No, I didn't kill them! I didn't!" screamed Buffy. 

         _Death is on your heels, baby, and sooner or later it's going catch you,_ she heard Spike say. She spun to face him in the hall, but he wasn't there. No, he was gone, wasn't he? 

         I'm alone on the island, she reasoned. No one else. I'm free! I'm free… 

         _Death is your art. You make it with your hands, day after day,_ the Spike in her head said. 

         Buffy held her head with both her hands, dropping the apple. No, no, no! I didn't! I didn't kill them! she raged internally. 

         She ran to her room and shut the door quickly behind her, leaning back on it, shutting the mental demons out. Then she opened her eyes and saw it. 

         Hanging beside her bed was a noose, dangling above a chair. Suddenly, the last line of the poem was remembered oh, so clearly in her mind. 

         _One Indian boy left all alone…   
         He went and hanged himself and then there were none…_

         No, not married, she thought. Not happily ever after. 

         What now? she thought again. Yes, answer the Council's questions… but then? What after she reached Devon again, then London, then Sunnydale? What happened when she went home? Did she even have one? What would she go home to? 

         Her Watcher was dead. 

         Her family was dead. 

         Her friends were dead. 

         Her love… dead. 

         There was nothing left for her… right? 

         _What's it like, Buffy?_ her inner Spike asked. _Where does it lead you? And now you see, that's the secret. Not the punch you didn't throw or the kicks you didn't land…_

         She moved slowly to the chair, to the noose. 

         "It's like… we're on trial or something, you know? And we're being punished," she remembered telling Giles.   
         "It's not your fault, Buffy," he had said. "Faith's sins are hers alone."   
         "But I was there! I was part of it! Maybe… maybe we all are guilty…" 

         Standing on the chair, she looked out the window, out to where the sun met the sea. Across the sea, far on the other side, Faith would be there, in her cell, paying for her crimes. 

         "Was it my fault? Do I deserve to be punished for an accident? One perpetuated by someone else, just because I was party to it?"   
         "I… I don't know. Do you, Giles?"   
         "I don't know, either. It's so absurd… so absurd…"   
         "Giles?"   
         "Maybe we are being punished… maybe we _do_ deserve to be…" 

         Maybe, just maybe Faith, in her cell, maybe she was looking out, out at the sea, out here, knowing that somewhere Buffy was finally paying for hers. Their eyes might lock and they would both know they were finally partners in this crime. Now they had to pay, right? You and me, sister… the Chosen Two… 

         Buffy grabbed the noose and unconsciously slid it around her neck. There was no reason, nothing waiting for her. Everything was gone and she had to pay, pay for her crime. 

         _Every Slayer has a death wish,_ her inner Spike said. _Even you._

         Waiting for one good day, she remembered. But now he wasn't here. Oh, Spike, I'm so sorry, she thought. So sorry. 

         _Do you ever think there's even a remote chance that one day, you could grow to love me?_

         Buffy looked down, tightening the noose. "Yes, Spike," she answered, honestly. 

         _You are so beautiful,_ came the whisper. _I'm here for you, as long as you need me, too. Maybe I'm setting myself up for the biggest hurt of all…_

         "No, I need you, too," she said out loud to the empty room. "I need you so much." 

         _Then, let go, Buffy. Come to me. Listen,_ he said, humming that silly tune. 

         _While the moon her watch is keeping,   
         All through the night…   
         While the weary world is sleeping,   
         All through the night…_

         Buffy toed the edge of the chair and using the last of her strength, pushed. 

         She felt a rush of air expel from her lungs and kicked her legs involuntarily as she felt nothing but air below her. 

         That's when she saw. Through the haze that threatened to cover her eyes, the darkness that was inching into her vision, she saw her killer, standing there and laughing and she realized they had been tricked. 

         Angel. She killed him. For no reason. They were fooled all along. There were no crimes to pay, no redemption. Just cold-blooded murder and _it was all a trick…_

         She tried to call out, to claw at the noose cutting off her air, to struggle valiantly against her death, but with no Slayer strength, she couldn't. It was too late… 

         "Too late," her murderer whispered. "Too late for you and too late for the world!" 

         Buffy turned and looked out the window. In the haze, the sea looked red, blood red. She sent a silent apology to Faith, for by ending her life, she ended Faith's as well. She made her pay for a crime she had no business paying. They all had. Hadn't they? 

         _O'er my bosom gently stealing,   
         Visions of delight revealing.   
         Breathes a pure and holy feeling…_

         Buffy felt the last air leave her and her last thought as the darkness overtook her was, I failed them all. I was the Slayer and I failed them all. 

         _All… through the… night…_

* * *


	14. And Then There Were None

**Chapter 12: And Then there Were None...**

* * *

_[two days later]_

         Quentin Travers entered the small villa just as his associate came up. "Sir, we have the information you requested." 

         "Good," said Quentin. "Give me the basics." 

         The associate cleared his throat and consulted his notes as he relayed the information to Quentin as they walked into the sitting room. 

         "The consensus is clear for the first six murders. We have collaborated the diary entries of Willow, Anya and Mr. Giles." 

         "Ah, Giles," mused Quentin. "What a fool," he muttered. "To bring this group here, Slayer included, without informing us? At least he had enough sense to have the boat driver inform us first before the British authorities and Scotland Yard got involved…" 

         "Yes, sir," the associate said, turning back to his notes, leaving his opinion out. "The events seem to be that Dawn Summers met her demise first, here. She choked on her tea, which was later determined to be laced with some cyanide, possibly potassium." 

         A man working on the forensics of the sitting room looked up and added, "Traces on the teacup in the fireplace have identified is as such, sir." 

         Quentin nodded and waved his hand, indicating to the associate to continue. 

         "We believe the vampire Spike also was terminated here. In that corner. He was the, uh, fifth murder. He was drugged with the same, diluted form of the cyanide and then injected with holy water, according to the diaries." 

         "Interesting!" exclaimed Quentin. "Quite imaginative our murderer!" 

         "Yes, sir. They seem to be following the old nursery rhyme." 

         "Rhyme?" 

         The associate gave Quentin a copy of the rhyme as they passed into the study. 

         "Mr. Giles' murder was the third. In here. He was hit with that candlestick," the associate pointed. 

         "Hmm," said Quentin. "And the others?" he asked, heading for the staircase leading upstairs. 

         "The second, Tara, was murdered in her room, see? Overslept. She was poisoned as well, with the same kind of cyanide. The fourth, Xander was stabbed with a butcher knife in the kitchen. As for the sixth…" 

         "Yes?" 

         "Anya was murdered in her room as well. Hit with a gavel on her forehead. Dressed in a black robe and white wig," the associate said as they came to Anya's room. He opened the door to reveal two Council men performing the usual forensic investigations. 

         Quentin saw the mark on her forehead and exclaimed, "But surely such a hit could not kill her, she was a demon!" 

         One of the Council men said, "There's a barrier around the island, sir, preventing the use of any supernatural activity." 

         "So they were defenseless?" 

         "To certain degree. In Anya's case, she was poisoned as well. Cyanide." 

         Quentin thought about this then told his associate. "I want the barrier down." 

         "Yes, sir, we're working on it." 

         "Good, what else?" he asked as they exited the room. 

         "Well, sir, it's sketchy from here. We believe the last four murders happened consecutively, thus preventing Willow from documenting them. We have Willow, Cordelia, Angel and Buffy. Willow, outside her bedroom window, crushed under the clock. Cordelia found on the beach, drowned with a broken neck. Buffy hanged in her room and a burnt stake in the dining room whose scorch marks match the ones found on the tree near the beach, indicating Angel may have been dusted with it there." 

         "Theories," ordered Quentin. 

         "The popular belief, according to the diaries, is one of them was the killer. Angel and Xander had searched the island and no one else was on the island." 

         "Hmm," mused Quentin, moving into Buffy's room. 

         The associate followed. "Going with that, sir, one theory suggests that Willow did it, killed them all, staked Angel, pushed Cordelia off the cliff and hung Buffy, then killed herself." 

         "Are you trying to tell me a little girl like Willow, with no magic, fought off Buffy, a trained Slayer, hanged her, then had the strength to pull this," he touched the huge clock, "onto herself?" 

         The associate coughed nervously. "No, sir, just a theory. Another is that Cordelia is the murderer. Staked Angel, hung Buffy, pushed the clock on Willow and then threw herself off the cliff." 

         "Good theory," said Quentin, examining the noose. 

         "Yes, sir, except Cordelia's body was lifted past the water mark. How is that possible?" 

         "Hmm, good point. What about Angel? He was a ruthless killer before. What about Angelus?" 

         "We thought of that. Killed them all and then staked himself. Except the stake was found in the dining room on the table by the centerpiece. He would not have been able to do that if he were dusted." 

         Quentin considered that. "Well, then, it must be Buffy," he said, pulling on the noose. "She killed them all and then hung herself." 

         The associate coughed again. "Another good theory…" 

         "But…" 

         "But if Buffy hung herself, she would have kicked the chair away. When we came her, the chair was set upright, on the far wall. She could not have done that. Therefore someone was alive, _after_ she died." 

         "By God," exclaimed Quentin. "There's no answer?! Could it have been any of the first six?" 

         "Well," trailed the associate. "Maybe, but the diary records collaborate. Unless two or possibly all three were lying, which, considering the circumstances, seems unlikely. The diaries were filled with suspicions and distrust. I doubt any of them were allied with each other." 

         "But, it's mind-boggling!" Quentin said. "How can ten friends, as closely bound together as that group was, turn against each other?" 

         The associate shrugged. "We're continuing our investigations, sir, but for now, it's quite a mystery…" 

* * *


	15. Epilogue: The Verdict

**Epilogue: The Verdict**

* * *

_[another day later]_

         She was surprised when she got the letter. Delivered by a Janak demon, no less. She slit the envelope and pulled out the sheets, starting to read with interest. 

  _Dear Hallie, _

         If you're reading this now, guess I'm dead. 

         Halfrek raised her eyebrows. 

         _Don't be raising your eyebrows at me, missy._

         Halfrek pursed her brow, trying to stop them from being raised. Damn, she knew her well. She continued reading: 

         _Don't worry, hon, it's part of the plan. The Watcher was close to figuring it out and I think Spike, poor guy, was close, too. Surprised no one thought of this before, but few of the newer demons ever heard of the Themitic Clause. After the Greek Goddess Themis, Goddess of Justice. The Perfect Reward. A chance at dominance and new life to the demon that can avenge those beyond the law. It's risky and there's a lot of rules, but I did it! _

         Quite easy, too. A simple encouragement spell was enough to get Giles to make the plans with subliminal suggestions for the location and such. Getting John, to do my bidding, spell and all, in exchange for **not** ripping his lying balls off for cheating on his wife (inventive wish, I think) was also easy enough. 

         The hardest was the research, getting all the information on my victims. But luckily, there are enough older demons around who remember. I won't go into the details of who and how I got all the information about their crimes and such, but… 

         Halfrek skimmed over all specifics and the names of demons and how much was paid and such and continued: 

         _Once we were there, it was just execution. You should have seen their faces, Hallie, when the 'voice' accused them! Twen-Tai has a very scary voice for a demon, I think… _

         Dawn was easy, getting all hysterical. Slipping the cyanide in her drink, piece of cake. Tara, too, sneaking in her room and putting the poison in her water. Didn't even break a sweat. 

         Giles wasn't too tough, snuck up behind him, they left me alone with me, like I could be trusted! True, I was scared for a bit, when I realized how close he was to getting to the truth, but luckily he didn't live to tell them. 

         Xander was probably the hardest. I did manage to create a distraction by filling Willow's drawer with ice, in the confusion and her screaming, no one noticed I wasn't there. But when I actually stabbed him… He had suspected me all along, Hallie, can you believe that?! Needless to say, I was both sad and happy to see the bastard go. 

         Poor Spike. I felt sorry for him, but he, too, was too smart for his own good. Buffy locking the door, thinking that was enough. I had keys to all the doors, it was **my** house! Oh, but get this, he loved Buffy… isn't that sick?! I mean, what was with Buffy and her vampires?!! Oh, and the bees? My favorite little touch! 

         Of course, suspicions were now high and so I knew I had to be the next to go. I had initially bonded with Cordy, seeing as we shared Xander as an ex, and she was gullible enough to accept my reasoning that if I faked my death, I could roam around undercover and find the killer. I pushed on the weakness of her delusion that she's a good actress and we set it up. A little makeup, some lightening… they were all distracted enough by the cherry bomb in the old pipe trick this little kid in the sixties showed me to really check if I was dead. 

         Soon, they all began pointing fingers at each other, and I have to admit Cordy was pretty good as an actress. Oscar worthy, really. Too bad no one else will ever know. She cried and screamed and made an impressive showing. She managed to meet me by the cliffs where I told her I found an old cavern, then pushed her in. She never saw it coming. 

         Willow was also equally surprised when I pushed her out the window. She did think I was dead, after all. Her scream was covered up by the storm and I had seen Angel out looking for Cordy and Buffy crying in corner, over Spike, no doubt. Pushing the clock onto her was just icing on the cake. (I tried to stay as close as I could to the rhyme. Kept me amused.) 

         Then, the best? Watching Buffy and Angel go at it after finding Cordy's body. Poor Angel. Never got to tell Cordy he loved her and killed by his ex. Isn't that poetic justice? Oh, and by the way, did you know that the seer had the hots for him, too? Yeah, Cordy told me she was in love with Angel! Can you believe that? I sure didn't see that coming! I just don't see what they all saw in Angel. I mean, sure, he's kind of cute, but… Had I known earlier, I would have tried to work it in, you know? 

         Okay, gossip aside, let me say, I had no doubt Buffy would prevail. She got the heart of the first Slayer, that's for sure. 

         Oh, Hallie, you should have seen her face, hanging there, when she saw it was me. Utter hopelessness. Normally, I hate killing women… I mean, hello? Patron Saint of Scorned Women? But the Slayer? Every demon's dream, I suppose and it was so easy, she practically did it herself! Don't know what they all complained about. 

         But see, now for the big finale. The reason I did this. It was actually Dawn… I really didn't **need** to kill the rest of them, but I remembered the old story, the one that happened fifty years ago and it was such a kick! Besides, with the Slayer and her friends out of the way… time for a new order, know what I mean? 

         So, here's the big secret, the reason I'm writing to you… 

         Halfrek read it, her eyes widening as astonishment filled her features. 

         _Now, I got to go set up. A good sherry mixed with the rest of the cyanide will be enough to kill me… can't have the Watchers come and find me alive, now can we? Besides, it's a simple death to reverse. Now, be a good girl and tell D'Hoffryn. He'll resurrect me according to the clause and our line will rule! Isn't it cool? I can't wait to see you again and tell you more. _

     Love, your vengeance partner in crime, 

     Anyanka 

         Halfrek reread the letter and smiled. It was genius! Really! Anyanka! 

         But, she thought, crumpling the letter, Anyanka was so silly sometimes. Why didn't she send this straight to D'Hoffryn? You had to brag a bit first, right, Anyanka? You couldn't just let it go. Well, your loss is my gain, she thought, as she waved her hand and the letter in the other burst into flames. You should know better by now, rule one, never trust a vengeance demon.   
          

* * *

         However, she did go to see D'Hoffryn but when she saw him… 

         "D'Hoffyrn, I have a surprise for you…" Halfrek chanted. 

         "What now? Can't you see I'm busy? Slayer's dead, got to take advantage." 

         Halfrek smiled. "What if I could give you the power of evil, all wrapped up in a little ball?" 

         D'Hoffryn paused then considered her with great attention. "Go on, I'm listening." 

         Halfrek gave him a slightly different version, where she killed the Indians on the Island, slight embellishment for dramatic effect. 

         "…oh, and sorry for killing Anya, but it was necessary." 

         He waved it off. "Your point, Halfrek?" D'Hoffryn said, impatiently. 

         "Oh, the best part," hurried Halfrek. "Well, I had the barrier, right? So, no power could get in? Well, by killing off Dawn, she released _her_ power, the Key… and it's all trapped in there!" 

         "The Key?" said D'Hoffryn. "The energy that could break the walls between dimensions…" he mused. 

         Halfrek joined in as they said simultaneously, "…and unleash hell on earth!" 

         "That's amazing!" cried D'Hoffryn. Halfrek beamed widely. "Such genius! Such intelligence! Such wisdom!" he praised. "And none of it yours!" 

         Halfrek's smile disappeared as she did a double take. "Huh?" 

         "Oh, Halfrek, you mean to convince me _you_ thought of this?" 

         "Why, yes…" 

         "Tell me, then, how did you get away from them? They never _saw_ you? They _did_ search the island…" he asked. 

         "Well, I… I… teleported around," she answered. "I evaded them, easy, really." 

         D'Hoffryn considered this. "Yes, you're right," he said, to her apparent relief. "Except… you were in a bubble with no powers!" 

         Halfrek's eyes widened as she realized she had been caught in a lie. 

         D'Hoffryn laughed. "Silly girl, you can't fool me. Besides, this sounds like Anyanka's work… she did it, right? Sacrificed herself, hoping I'll resurrect her?" 

         Halfrek nodded, sadly. "The Themitic Clause." 

         "Ahhh, I had forgotten about that… Brilliant, really… And you stole it… hmm… good work…" 

         "Really?" said Halfrek, looking up with hope. 

         "Why, yes," added D'Hoffryn. "Wouldn't expect less from one of my own. Very good indeed…" He turned away from her and flicked his hand, sending Halfrek screaming up into a burst of flames. "Not good enough to save you, though," he said to himself. 

         He barked orders to his minions, preparing to channel the Key's energy out of the balloon before the damned Watchers released it and ordering the death of the other Slayer. 

         He looked out the window and gazed at the green earth below and found it good. But, not for long, he thought. Halfrek and Anyanka were right; there was a new order coming, he thought, imagining the damage hell can do to this dimension. 

         An order where demons will be free to roam anywhere, free for the grasp of humans and the force of good. An order free from the shackles imposed by the Slayer. 

         But it would his order and _he_ would rule. 

         --THE END-- 

* * *

**My Silly Comments**

         First, let me say that this Agatha Christie story was one of my favorites and I tried so hard to stay true to the story and similarily to the characters of BtVS. I'd like to think I did that to a certain degree. So, when many of you wrote and said I did, I was _extremely_ happy to hear that. 

         This has been the most "popular" story I've written in terms of feedback, so I'd like to thank the people that took the time to praise, comment and/or vote on the story. You guys were true inspiration. So, Sophie, Lauren, Imzadi, Jane, Angel, RedThunder, Supes, Smooth, Angelus, Emily, Susanne, Falcon-Rider, Leena, you all were fabulous people to talk to. Thank you. 

         Extra thanks go to...   
         - Angelica, who managed to get me the Latin translation of Giles' ill-fated spell in record time! Props, babe… To overflow her with similar praise, you can reach her at: Angelica Rich, arich@safelink.net   
         - Lauren also has my fic up at her site: bailunrui.buffymail2002.com ... thanks again.   
         - Falcon-Rider also asked and although it's not up there now, you can check out the new home at: www.geocities.com/starsightvoices ... I'll be sending you the files soon, hon! 

         I also have it (and my other stories) on fanfiction.net at: www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=325651 and on my own website (with lots of extras, floorplans and mp3s!!) at www.in-the-palm-of-your-hand.com/fanfic 

         Okay... suspect poll... 

         **TOTAL POLL:** out of a total of thirty-four votes (!yea!) over two weeks, we have the following breakdowns:   
         Name - Number of votes - Percentage   
         Anya - 11 - 32%   
         Dawn - 6 - 17%   
         Giles - 4 - 12%   
         Angel(us) - 4 - 12%   
         Spike - 4 - 12%   
         Buffy - 2 - 6%   
         Willow - 1 - 3%   
         Cordy - 1 - 3%   
         Xander - 0 - 0% 

         Yup... so, you all thought it was Anya, huh? ;-) Was I obvious, I wonder? You all seemed to vote that way... 

         No, actually, some of you correctly guessed some of my hidden "hints". For those who read the original book, they guessed the killer was probably "killed" in the same order, that being the fourth-to-last to go (so, you _were_ right, RedThunder!). Anya was the fourth-to-last to die, in the same manner, in the "Judge's" outfit. 

         And as Angelus pointed out to me, in the original novel, the Judge is the killer and fakes his death so he can kill the others, so does Anya convince Cordy to help her out. In my mind, only Cordy was ditzy enough to fall for that. (sorry, but it's true...) 

         Also, as Jane pointed out in a feedback, the Judge was the only one who didn't believe he was responsible for his crime, as was Anya. In her monologue, it may _seem_ that way, but if you read closely, she was trying to convince herself that what she did was right but says: 

         _Besides, it was too late now, what's done was done. She couldn't take it back. Not now. Not anymore…_

         Here, she actually means it's too late to stop her plan to complete the Themitic Clause, even if she wanted to. Had she stopped, the rest would have found out it was her and... well, hell hath no fury like a Slayer scorned, right? ;-) 

         Another "hint", unrelated to the original novel, was no one bothered to check if she (Anya) was dead! Emily spotted that only Cordy (who was in on it) saw that she was dead and the others (Angel, Buffy and Willow) were so shell-shocked that they didn't even enter the room! 

         But overall, I tried to keep a "reasonable doubt" that any of them _could_ have done it. And it's true. Yet, I liked the side story about how Anya was doing this for a "greater cause", only to be hoodwinked at the end, first by Halfrek, then D'Hoffryn. Gues evil doesn't play fair, huh? I know some of you were hoping for a sequel and I kept saying wait, knowing that at the end of the fic... well, not much of a world left to do anything, eh? Something that was foreshadowed in the prologue with Faith's dead body beside her diary entry in prison. Guess D'Hoffryn managed to get the last Slayer after all. A new order. Glad I'm not there... ::whew:: 

         So, I'm glad you all enjoyed it and I hope to have more great fic for you soon. I hope it wasn't _too_ anti-climatic, though... you all were great at guessing. 

         Thanks again for all your feedback! I love you all! ;-) 

* * *


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